


ground zero

by VacuumTan



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Future Fic, Multi, POV Second Person, Polyamory, Roommates, watch me prattle on about the inherent eroticism of roommates for 30k words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VacuumTan/pseuds/VacuumTan
Summary: You pick up a box, smile, and take the first step up the stairs.-In which our protagonist rooms with Ann and Ryuji and just so happens to fall in love.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Sakamoto Ryuji, Amamiya Ren/Sakamoto Ryuji/Takamaki Ann, Amamiya Ren/Takamaki Ann, Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji/Takamaki Ann, Kurusu Akira/Takamaki Ann, Niijima Makoto/Okumura Haru (background), Persona 5 Protagonist & Phantom Thieves of Hearts, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji/Takamaki Ann, Persona 5 Protagonist/Takamaki Ann, Sakamoto Ryuji/Takamaki Ann
Comments: 32
Kudos: 161





	ground zero

**0318—**

The streets of Tokyo are nostalgic in a way that makes your chest ache and your skin tingle. They feel familiar and brand new all at once, because the city doesn’t sleep, and one year is an eternity for an insomniac metropolis to amass miniscule changes.

Shimokitazawa is inherently different from Yongen-jaya. The noise of rush hour and tourists walking the main streets carries all the way to the back alleys. Thrift shops and everything else fashionable line the shopping strips. As it gets darker out, the bright neon of countless storefronts and signs paints the overcast spring skies a bruised yellow. Life is faster here.

A nearby curry restaurant makes the air taste like spices and heat. By your feet stands your entire being, neatly filed into eight cardboard boxes.

It feels a little like déjà vu.

But then Ryuji is by your side, and says, “C’mon man, don’t just stand there!” with a box already in his hands and an exasperated smile on his face. Just behind him is the narrow entryway to your new place, the door kept open by yet another box. The steep staircase inside promises back pains tomorrow.

The streets of Tokyo are nostalgic in a way that reminds you of wrongful accusations, freshly brewed coffee, teenage rebellion, rainy days spent studying and fire-forged friendships. But because the city doesn’t sleep, and one year is an eternity for a person to amass miniscule changes, instead of being all alone and bound by disciplinary measures, you are facing the future on your own terms with all your loved ones only ever a phone call away.

You pick up a box, smile, and take the first step up the stairs.

**0318—**

It’s dark outside by the time you, Ryuji and Ann find yourselves seated along the counter of a ramen stall two streets over. The steam from your soup fogs up your glasses, but it smells deliciously of well-cooked stock and fresh spring onions.

“You think I can still order an extra egg?” Ann whispers, her bowl suspiciously lacking in the poached egg department. She clicks her chopsticks together and stares into the broth. Her brows knit together and her lips purse. She sighs. “I shouldn’t. It’s too much cholesterol.”

“If you want one, get one,” Ryuji says from beside her, swinging his regretfully wet wooden ladle around for emphasis. “Today, we’re celebrating moving in. You can go back to sticking to your diet plan tomorrow.”

“What he said,” you agree, and Ann looks equal parts betrayed and grateful.

She pretends not to smile, raises her hand, and shouts, “Excuse me! Could I get another egg?”

**0118—**

_“Student housing is so expensive,” Ann texts you with no preamble, about one month before the semester is set to begin. “My parents are all about me moving out, but I don’t want to live in some dorm with paper walls and no space to put anything!” She punctuates that last statement with an angry emote._

_“Have you looked into apartments for rent?” you ask, even though you think it highly unlikely that she hasn’t._

_“Ugh,” she replies. So much for that, then. “It’s super expensive. Even if the jobs I’ve been getting have been paying better, I’d still not manage.”_

_For someone who is about to go into economics—marketing, to be fair—, Ann is surprisingly bad at figuring out more economic alternatives. “How about rooming with someone?” you try again._

_“Shiho is off to Tohoku,” she tells you, and you can almost imagine the furrow between her brows and the childish pout on her face. “And I’d rather not room with strangers.”_

_And maybe you’re feeling a bit bold when you reply with, “I’m moving back to Tokyo for university, you know,” and all the implications and suggestions contained therein, but some part of you is just a bit in love with the idea of braving university with one of your best friends at your side._

_“Of course I do,” Ann says, and then doesn’t say anything for a while. Twenty minutes or so pass, before your phone buzzes again._

_“So, turns out I’m stupid,” her next text reads, and you can’t help but laugh a little. “It could be fun, rooming together. But don’t get the wrong idea!” And maybe some part of you is just a bit in love with Ann, too._

**0318—**

The ashen light of dawn filters through gaps in the curtains, and the first hints of reddened gold catch on drifting motes of dust. It feels like watching fireflies, because the world is just a bit out of focus without your glasses, and you alternate between staring at them and dozing off again until an alarm goes off.

From a few metres to your left, you hear a barely human groan, and then you’re pretty sure Ryuji tumbles off the couch. It’s all but confirmed when a string of choice words follows, and then, the blurry outline of a blond head pops up over the backrest.

“Morning,” you mouth, quiet with the early hour, and stare up at him. You think Ryuji grins down at you, but you can’t say for certain.

“Morning,” he says back, sounding weirdly on the giddy side. You distinctly remember him complaining about waking up early during your school days—either he changed his 6-AM-attitude, or he might just be a little excited about your new living arrangements.

Before you can dwell on that thought, Ryuji pushes off the couch and stands. He stretches, and his back pops with an almighty crack. He seems satisfied by it, though, and turns to rummage around his still packed up belongings. “I’ll go take a shower,” he tells you, a towel slung over his arm, and you give him a vague nod.

He shuffles out of the room and you close your eyes again. From the next room, you can hear Ann babble softly in her sleep. Your mattress still smells like chemicals and feels as stiff as a board—those facts sink in after about a minute or so, and when they do, you’re suddenly abuzz with restless energy.

You reach for your glasses, ignore the ache in your lower back as you get up, and begin your first morning back in Tokyo by preparing some coffee.

**0318—**

Makoto Niijima—

How does it feel to be back in Tokyo?

Have you unpacked everything yet? You still have some time left before the semester starts, but it’s better to not put these things off.

Me—

We’ve given up on unpacking for the day.

We’re sitting on the floor right now, eating candy for dinner.

Makoto Niijima—

I don’t know what to say.

But, I suppose it’s nice to know that you haven’t changed.

Me—

Thanks for your concern, Makoto.

It’s good to be back.

**0318—**

After two days of unpacking, Ann pulls the final item—a jewellery stand—out of the last remaining cardboard box in your apartment.

It’s already late, and Ryuji dozes on the couch’s armrest with his head at an uncomfortable angle. Letting him rest is only fair though, seeing as he had been the one putting most of your disassembled Ikea-furniture back together all afternoon.

“We’re done,” Ann breathes, standing in the threshold of her room. Her oily skin is shining almost as brightly as her exhilarated grin in the dim living room-slash-kitchen light. “We’re all moved in.” Her jewellery stand has found its home on top of a set of drawers, you notice.

“We are,” you confirm. She laughs, breezy and cheerful, and walks over to where you’re leaning against the counter of the little kitchenette to pull you into a side-hug. You sling an arm around her, too, and when you meet her eye, the two of you wear a matching set of relieved, disbelieving smiles that quickly dissolve into giggles.

In the morning, you wake up on the couch with a stiff neck, missing glasses, Ryuji’s hipbone digging into your cheek and Ann’s socked foot dangerously close to your mouth, and it’s warm and feels like _home_.

**0318—**

University is overwhelming and underwhelming all at once. The Toudai campus you attend is large, and the masses of people trickling by in the early morning reminds you how big Tokyo is once again. In your left hand, you clutch your schedule like a lifeline. Your right hand loosely holds your phone.

Starting school in Tokyo without having everyone know _exactly_ who you are is a brand new experience. No one spares you a glance, and not a single familiar face passes you by. Everyone minds their own business here, and by the time you take a seat in the still surprisingly empty lecture hall, you feel like university really doesn’t live up to the hype.

“You can totally do it, dude!!!!” says your latest text, courtesy of Ryuji, when you whip out your phone, and you have to shift around in your seat in order to make the action of hiding your dopey grin behind your hand seem at least somewhat casual.

**0218—**

_The apartment you decide on with Ann is, even if you split the rent, extremely close to your set limit. “We could get someone else to room with us, too,” you suggest, and Ann is on board with the idea until you both realise that you don’t really know that many people currently in need of affordable housing._

_“Makoto and Haru both sorted out their living arrangements a year ago,” you point out. “And I don’t think Futaba is looking to move out if she can help it.”_

_“Yusuke would be difficult to room with, with how much space he probably needs,” Ann says, sniffles, and adds, “and too exhausting to have around all the time.” She doesn’t say it to be mean, and you don’t fault her for thinking so in the least. Although Yusuke is probably the most likely to look into a place to live at the moment, rooming together with him might just turn out to be a test of your patience._

_You spin a pen between your fingers and stare at the wall in thought. Hifumi crosses your mind briefly, but you dismiss the idea quickly; somehow, it doesn’t feel right to ask her. “Ryuji?” you ask Ann, eventually, and she sighs into her phone, making the speaker on your end pop._

_“I don’t think he wants to move out from his mom’s,” she replies, and sighs again—without a pop, this time. “But I’ll ask him, just to be sure.”_

_As it turns out, Ryuji is actually pretty eager to move out._

**0318—**

More familiar than the dim lighting or even the mixed scent of coffee, spices and cigarette smoke is the chime of the little bell above the door; it sounds like coming home, and feels like no time has passed at all.

Sojiro looks up when you enter, newspaper in his hands and cigarette dangling from his lips, and then he’s smiling. “Well, look who the cat dragged in,” he says, putting the cigarette out in an ashtray on the counter. “Not that we keep a cat around here anymore.”

“He misses being here,” you reply, walking over and taking a seat at the counter. “But my parents spoil him, so it’s not like he complains.”

Sojiro snorts before heating up some water. The café is empty, save for the two of you, and the TV’s volume is turned on low. “I was wondering when you’d be dropping in,” he says after some silence, pouring hot water over coffee grounds. “Futaba said you’ve been back in town for about two weeks now?”

“A little longer, yes. I meant to come see you earlier, but... things got really busy.”

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he assures you, setting down a cup of coffee in front of you. The scent is strong and perfect and absolutely nostalgic, and you wonder how you managed to drink anything else since leaving Tokyo. You take a small sip, and the aroma hits even harder than the scent did.

You must look pleased, for Sojiro smirks at you. “I bet you missed this, huh?” he asks smugly.

“I did.”

Your lack of hesitation—and shame, perhaps—seem to surprise him. Then, however, he scoffs and shakes his head, and you’re pretty sure he smiles his widest grin yet. “Don’t try to flatter unlimited free coffee out of me. It’s bad for business,” he says with mock-resolution and all the adoration in the world.

**0418—**

You return home to Ann complaining about the smell of hair-dye and Ryuji, in turn, complaining about long hair clogging up the drain.

“I smell chemicals like that at work already,” Ann yells, making a show of pinching her nose shut. The windows, you notice, are thrown open dramatically wide, with the curtains caught on their frames.

Ryuji, looking kind of ridiculous with tinfoil all over his head, crosses his arms and scoffs. “Look, I’m _sorry_ , but if your hair didn’t clog up the shower and the basin—“

“I can’t help it! It just falls out!”

“I know that, jeez! But all I’m saying is, you have no right to complain—“

You’re about to intervene and call them out on their nonsense when Ann’s angry glare softens into something defeated. She clearly contemplates her next words carefully, so you keep watching silently. “I... may have overreacted,” she sighs. “I would have appreciated if you’d done it when I wasn’t home, but I didn’t have to yell.” Her voice grows gentle with the exasperation of having known someone for too long already. “I’m sorry, Ryuji.”

Ryuji’s shoulders sag in what you presume to be relief and he ducks his head to hide a small smile. “’S alright,” he says. “I’m sorry, too.”

Ann grins, hands going to her hips, stance wide. “You know what? I’ll just vacuum the drain after I shower in the future, so no hair will get stuck!” she says with the kind of conviction only someone with no common sense could hope to muster.

“Please don’t,” you say, and the two of them jump upon noticing you.

The compromised curtains billow in the spring breeze.

**0418—**

It’s Friday evening, and Ryuji paints your toenails a bright red while Ann is leaning against your shoulder, flicking through her economy textbook with no visible interest. Someone sat down on the remote—and you’re fairly sure it might have been you—a while ago, and the TV has been muted ever since. Not that the variety show playing right now would be very engaging, anyways.

On the coffee table sit three used dishes. Ryuji slips and paints your entire toe. Seki-san of variety show fame seems to have guessed something correctly. Ann is warm against you.

It’s so comfortable, you fall asleep.

**0518—**

Schedules aligning is akin to a miracle between seven people (and a cat via Skype call, which was extremely awkward and hard to get your parents to set up without sounding like a lunatic), but the former Phantom Thieves of Hearts are nothing if not miracle makers by trade.

Makoto’s blue uniform shirt suits her incredibly well, and there’s a proud set to her shoulders that makes the ‘Officer Niijima’ emblazoned on her chest especially noticeable. She also sports a fading black eye, but she seems almost prouder of that than even her uniform.

Haru sits next to her on the couch, nursing one of the countless sugar cookies she had brought. Her hair is shorter than you remember it being, the last time you saw her for lunch almost a month ago, but perhaps that’s only your memory not serving you correctly.

Futaba is squatting on the floor and talks to Morgana through the laptop, comparing him to a cute cat video and earning angry hissing in reply. Yusuke watches the exchange with a bewildered expression.

You feel like a fool, smiling the way you do as you watch your friends occupy this space that is yours, and Ann’s, and Ryuji’s— that you furnished and made into a home all by yourselves—but both your roommates seem to be caught up in a similar state of happiness right now.

“Guess this is us,” Ryuji says lowly, grin dimpling his cheeks, and your heart feels ready to burst.

**0618—**

The first days of summer sneak up on you with their warmth and make you go lax and lazy. You still attend your classes, of course, but your apartment has an AC, and the weather is so nice that it makes you sleepy.

“You can’t just lie around all day, man,” Ryuji says, poking you in the side with his toe.

“I can,” you argue, muffled, because your face is pressed into the sofa cushions.

Ryuji clicks his tongue, but doesn’t say any more—he probably admits that he has no means of getting you to budge.

... Is what you think, but then suddenly, his arms snake around your middle, and you’re unceremoniously pulled up. You flail a little, and Ryuji tells you to “stop squirming, man!” and then he must lose his balance, for the both of you end up tumbling to the floor in a heap of groans, complaints, and giggles.

“Seriously, did you have to do that?” Ryuji asks breathlessly, flushed in the face. You wonder if he would have been able to actually pick you up. He works at a gym now—maybe he could have. His arms sure look like it.

“I don’t know, did _you_?” you ask him back, teasing. Maybe he couldn’t have picked you up, after all. Various growth-spurts have left you taller (albeit ganglier), so maybe the centre of balance would have been off from the beginning.

Ryuji rolls his shoulders, short brows drawn in frustration. “Come to the gym with me,” he says, “and get some exercise. I know you’ve been busy, but you need to do _something_ for your body.”

And, well, his concern is touching enough for you to take him up on the offer.

**0618—**

“We tried cooking,” Ann says, pointedly ignoring the burnt stench in the air. The windows are thrown wide open, but it still lingers. Behind her, Ryuji guiltily scuffs his socked foot along the floor.

“So, what happened?” you ask them, pretending the eviscerated smoke detector with its batteries akimbo on the table doesn’t tell at least half the story.

They look at each other for a few seconds, having a strange kind of silent conversation in half-formed expressions and raised eyebrows, before sighing simultaneously. “It would have turned out fine,” Ryuji says, “but, we wanted to cook a proper meal for you, too. You always do it for us, and we thought...”

“We thought we’d try something easy,” Ann picks up seamlessly, “Just a stir-fry.”

“And?”

“We... forgot,” says Ann.

“About the food,” Ryuji adds.

“On the stove,” Ann finishes.

Both seem apprehensive, as if they were expecting you to get mad at them. It’s... cute, you suppose. But you _won’t_ get mad—sure, wasted food is always a shame, but the sentiment behind it all fills you with affection more than anything. “Do you still have leftover ingredients?” you ask.

“Just some vegetables,” Ryuji replies, shrugging, “but the most of it got burned.”

You almost want to laugh. “I’m sure we can do something with those.” And, perhaps, because you’re feeling cheeky, you add, “I’m looking forward to your next try. Maybe you won’t even get distracted.”

**0618—**

Makoto looks like she hasn’t slept in days, but her expression and posture are relaxed. Still in her uniform slacks, though her shirt lies next to her, she sits on your couch in a plain white camisole. “Sorry for dropping in on you like this,” she apologises again, closing her eyes and tilting her head back on the headrest.

You pour her a glass of iced tea and hum a vague noise of dissent. “You know I’m always glad to see you. Especially since you’re so busy all the time,” you tell her before moving on to pour yourself a glass as well. “It’s good that I was home already, since Ann and Ryuji are still at work.”

She smiles and slumps forward, picking up her glass and emptying half of it in one go. You raise a brow at her, but don’t ask if she’s okay. “It’s been a rough day,” she says, “though I suppose it might have been more of a rough _week_ , really.”

“You can vent, if you need to,” you offer, and she gives you an appreciative nod as she lets her smile slip. She takes another sip of tea, sighs, and talks until Ann gets home and then some.

**0618—**

“It’s really good,” you say, taking another bite of the (somewhat bland, slightly undercooked) stir-fry in front of you. Ann and Ryuji exhale in unison, their own food yet untouched, and you watch twin-smiles creep up on their faces.

It’s the most delicious meal you’ve had all week.

**0718—**

“Happy birthday to you,” Ann sings, deliberately off-key and needlessly loud.

“Happy birthday to you,” you continue, even worse and trying to one-up her in volume.

“Happy birthday, dear Ryuji,” the two of you go on in somewhat-unison, only really shouting anymore instead of singing, “happy birthday to you!”

And, well, Ryuji only looks about sixty percent ready to smother the two of you with the couch pillows.

**0718—**

The middle of July makes you realise just how hot your apartment can get.

“If we stored all this heat,” Ann groans, a condensation-covered can of milk-tea pressed to her forehead, “we wouldn’t have to pay for heating in winter.”

“Great idea,” Ryuji replies. “How about you get a jar with a screw-on lid that we can keep it in?”

You roll your eyes and move a little to the left to escape Ann’s too-hot toes pressing into your calf. The three of you decided to lie on the floor because it’s colder, but the laminate below you has already warmed through. “We could get a fan,” you say, hiking your shirt up higher to expose your stomach to the air.

“A real cheap one,” Ryuji agrees.

“ _Two_ real cheap ones,” Ann says, like the oft-underestimated well of wisdom she is.

And, well, if the three of you need four hours to pick two of the cheapest electric fans in the store that afternoon, you blame it on the AC.

**0718—**

Futaba Sakura—

[Attached Screenshot_982015.jgp]

Is that even allowed???

Me—

That’s just pics from Ann’s newest shoot?

Futaba Sakura—

That swimsuit hides nothing!!!

I can’t believe this!!!

Does this really do nothing for you? smh

Me—

Futaba, it’s her job.

Also, she looks good.

What do you want me to say?

Futaba Sakura—

“Good,” huh?

I see, I see.

Me—

Futaba.

**0818—**

Yusuke had attached a chime he had found particularly pretty to your kitchen window the last time he visited. With the unexpected summer storm outside pelting the pane with rain and sleet, it dings every so often, despite the window being shut.

“I hope Ann’s okay,” Ryuji mutters for the third time in ten minutes, palms pressed flat together and knees bouncing. You’re half inclined to put your hand on one of his legs to hold it in place.

“She is,” you reply, looking out the window at the grey sky and torrential rain. Ryuji shudders beside you, and you decide to sling an arm around his shoulders. Firmer this time, you repeat, “she is.”

“It’s like the world is ending out there,” he says, terribly small.

The worry is not surprising at all—both Ryuji and Ann have been this way about each other for as long as you’ve known them. It’s a kind of love they have reserved for one another, one that shows in their superficial arguments as well as their having each other’s backs at all times. You’re not jealous; if anything, it fills you with a fond kind of warmth.

Your arm tightens around Ryuji’s shoulders, and his breath hitches. He looks at you, all wretched and tired, and for the first time in your life, you notice how dense his eyelashes are. You swallow and force a smile. “We’ve been through worse than a little rain.”

It’s quiet, despite the storm raging outside. Ryuji is warm against you, and you’re keenly aware of where his body presses into yours. Your heart is a jackhammer against your sternum, but you don’t let him go.

Your phones ding simultaneously.

“Got caught up at uni,” the text sent to your group-chat says, lighting up your phone’s screen on the table. “The weather sucks,” comes the next ding, then an attached image.

Ryuji sags against your side, cradling his own phone now. “Damnit, Ann,” he sighs, but looks elated as he shows you the selfie Ann sent, flipping off the windows behind her.

**0818—**

Across from you, Ann laughs into her sundae. It’s topped with way too much whipped cream and strawberry sauce, sprinkles and fruit; her dietician would probably murder her if he knew.

“It’s so dumb,” she snorts, curling in on herself and dipping her fringe in cream in the process. “I can’t believe they let someone like that into university.”

You didn’t think your little anecdote from earlier that day would be _that_ amusing. Maybe Ann just happened to be in one of her giggly moods. “Well,” you reply, because you have nothing else to add on the matter.

Ann’s aquamarine eyes glance up at you over the mountainous sundae between you, wet with tears and alight with mirth. The cream is still stuck to her hair. Ann stiffens when you reach over to wipe it.

“You had some sundae in your hair,” you tell her, raising your wet hand as proof, and pretend not pay the blush spreading all the way down to her collarbone any mind.

**0818—**

Ann Takamaki—

Guys, look at this!

[Attached image_739182.jpg]

Me—

That is one huge fish.

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Locally sourced my ass!

I haven’t caught one that big, ever!

Ann Takamaki—

Maybe you just suck at fishing, Ryuji.

Me—

I don’t think you can catch one that big at out fishing spot.

Maybe it’s from the bay.

Ann Takamaki—

Should I buy it?

Ryuji Sakamoto—

What would we even do with a fish that huge!?

**0818—**

Over the course of half a year, you’ve watched Ryuji fill out considerably. The gangly teenage limbs that you yourself have yet to outgrow have all but left your friend, leaving behind only defined, lean muscle and sculpted legs.

(Sometimes, when you look at him for too long, it makes your mouth go just a bit dry.)

Working at the gym seems to bring him joy, at least. Instructing others and motivating them to do their best is something that comes naturally to him, and he smiles more often than not when recounting the day’s events to you and Ann.

“I don’t want to do it forever, though,” he tells you, once, but furrows his brow the second he’s done saying it. He sighs and slumps sideways, until his head is halfway in your lap and his legs dangle off the couch’s armrest in a position that can’t be comfortable.

“What _do_ you want to do, then?” you ask him. He crosses his arms in thought and stares past you at the ceiling, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“I don’t know, man.” He shrugs. “You can’t exactly work a respectable white collar job if you ain’t even got a college degree.”

You nod in understanding and look down at him. “You could try being a coach.”

Ryuji’s eyes go wide at that. “You think I could do it?” he asks, and his voice goes breathy with excitement. He sits back up and immediately turns to look at you again, his face so close that you can see the faint smatter of freckles on his nose. “I mean, I’ve thought about it, but I never thought I’d _actually_ be cut out for it.”

You smile, feeling almost smug, and lean back into the couch. “High school track teams can only dream of a coach as dedicated as you,” you tell him, because you know it to be entirely true.

But Ryuji’s eyes are alight, and his cheeks are rosy. “Hell yeah, man!” he cheers, not out of confidence, but because he is very obviously so in love with the idea that the particulars and logistics of it all don’t matter to him. “Though... I’m happy where I am right now,” he adds, rubbing his nose and grinning bashfully. “But... maybe in the future, y’know.”

**0818—**

Futaba sings another obscure anime opening with all the dedication of a stage performer. Haru goes to town on the tambourine, and no one in the room has the heart to tell her that she is a tad off beat after the tenth or so song.

“At least _they’re_ having fun,” Ryuji stage-whispers to you, grimacing when Futaba tries hitting something high with very limited success. Ann cheers for her nonetheless.

“It’s not so bad,” you say, despite the evidence to disprove you being right in front of you.

But, in a way, it really isn’t bad—eternally busy Haru is laughing cheerfully while abusing the tambourine, Futaba is grinning while singing with an uncharacteristic amount of outgoingness, and Ann either joins the song sometimes or yells criticisms and compliments.

Ryuji follows your gaze as you let it sweep over the girls. Then, he sighs, and pretends not to smile. “I guess,” he says, fondness bleeding into his tone.

**0818—**

Ann Takamaki—

There’s something I need to discuss with you guys.

**0818—**

“I’ll have to go abroad for a month.”

You can’t help the clatter of the pen you drop in surprise. Ann looks somewhat forlorn, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee while she avoids your eyes in favour of staring at the rubber-band-ball Ryuji has been working on for the past hour.

“For work?” you ask, trying to act casual about retrieving your pen. Ann sighs and nods.

“Yeah,” she says. “The job is really good and pays well. Plus, I’d finally get into contact with international agencies.”

So then why, you wonder, does she sound so bummed out about it? “That’s good, isn’t it?”

She pauses. “I mean, obviously.” Suddenly, she seems very interested in the contents of her cup. “But it’s the first time in so long I’d be travelling abroad, you know? I’d move from place to place when I was a kid, but...”

“You can just say you feel at home here, y’know,” Ryuji supplies, trying to add another rubber band to the ball.

Ann flushes and glares at the top of his bowed head. “I know! But—ugh, have some delicacy, Ryuji!”

She swats the ball out of his hand in retaliation, and Ryuji yelps before chasing it as it rolls across the floor. “We’ll miss you,” you tell her, and she bites her lip.

“I didn’t say I’d take the job, you know.”

You smile and take her cup away from her, downing the lukewarm coffee with a hint of peach lipgloss in one go. “I think you know you will.”

She stares at you, then the cup you’re setting down. Then, she flushes all the way up to her hairline and looks away. “I’ll miss you, too,” she says, before a stray rubber band hits her in the face as Ryuji screeches something about revenge.

**0818—**

“I tell you, we know the guy!” Ryuji says for what now feels like the hundredth time, but the bouncer still won’t budge. Ann stands next to him, massaging her temples, and clearly regrets coming here.

“Sorry, but it’s press and VIPs only,” the bouncer replies again, clearly just as annoyed as your friends.

Ann stomps her foot, heel clicking, and you can practically _hear_ her patience snap. “Look here!” she commands, firm and dominant, and whips out her phone to show the man what you suppose must be her chat-log. “Yusuke personally invited us! We’re his _friends_!”

“And he just so forgot to send you the actual invitation,” the bouncer retaliates flatly, raising his brow. And, well, it might sound like an excuse to the average person, but you doubt that the man has ever interacted with Yusuke, or he would find it painfully in character.

You place a hand on Ann’s shoulder when you see her clench a fist, and give the bouncer your most diplomatic smile. “Could you fetch him, then? Or send for him? I’m sure he’ll gladly clear this up.”

The man sighs, then gets out his walkie-talkie, mutters a few muffled words into it, and puts it away again. “I’m only doing this to get you three off my case,” he says, crossing his arms before ushering you to the side and letting a few disgruntled photographers in.

“Well, eff them and their glossy invitations,” Ryuji grumbles, glaring.

“To be fair, we don’t look the type to get invited to an art show on opening day,” you try.

“Maybe you guys don’t,” Ann says, “but I think I look like I could fit right in.” She gives a little twirl, her loose hair swishing along with the hem of her bright pink dress. “The picture of sophistication, wouldn’t you say?”

Ryuji snorts a laugh. “Sure, if you think almost decking a bouncer for not letting you in is _sophisticated_ ,” he jeers, and Ann bumps her hip into his with too much force.

“I wasn’t gonna!”

“Yeah, except I think you kinda were.”

An approaching, very much familiar voice gives them pause, and the three of you turn towards the entrance where a frazzled-looking Yusuke emerges. “Oh!” he exclaims, somehow taller still since the last time you saw him, and hurries towards you. “I was told someone requested for me to come outside. Although... I didn’t expect for it to be you.” He gives all of you a quick once-over and smiles. “What seems to be the problem?”

“You didn’t send us a proper invitation, man!” Ryuji shouts, making some reporters’ heads turn. He sheepishly weaves them off before turning back to Yusuke, “They wouldn’t let us in.”

“I see,” Yusuke says, more to himself than anything, before he meets your gaze with a spark in his eye. “Yet, I must ask, have your infiltration-skills dulled as much over time?”

You roll your eyes and give him a nudge in the direction of the entrance before he decides to specify that, yes, indeed, he had just made a joke and wouldn’t actually condone you breaking into the venue of the art-show he was featured in. “I think it’s better to get in legally,” you tell him, still shoving him along while Ann links her arm with one of Yusuke’s, dragging where your shoves end, until you’re at the door.

“These people are indeed my friends whom I have personally invited. Not sending them a physical invitation was admittedly an oversight on my part, but I hope my word will suffice,” he tells the bouncer, polite and smooth with his baritone, but perhaps the twin raspberries Ann and Ryuji blow him as you finally pass him by ruin Yusuke’s efforts just a bit.

**0918—**

You check the regulations of what you can bring on a plane to Norway a million times or so before buying something to stash away in Ann’s suitcase when she isn’t looking.

It shouldn’t be too heavy, of course; the little jewellery box with a kitschy little locket inside barely weighs fifty grams. Inside the locket is a tiny picture of you, her and Ryuji. It’s embarrassingly sentimental, but it’s exactly the kind of corny Ann will be glad about, thousands of kilometres away.

_I hope you have a great time in Norway. I know we’ll miss you._

_Knock it out of the park!_

You attach a post-it to the top of the box and slide it in right next to her cosmetics bag. When pulling your hand back, your finger catches on another post-it’s sticky strip. Curious, you pull it and the item it’s stuck to out of the bag.

A small charm, bought at a temple, rests in your hand. You smile when you read the familiar chicken-scratch that is Ryuji’s handwriting.

_Maybe this’ll help to get you back safe to us!!!_

**0918—**

Ann hugs you goodbye for a good five minutes, it feels like, before she moves on to Ryuji. He’s trying to act unaffected by her leaving, but when Ann starts wiping the tears off his face with a suspiciously wobbly smile of her own, he caves.

“She’ll only be gone for a month,” you bemusedly tell Makoto, your ever helpful driver, and she laughs—slightly nervous, maybe, because her turn to get hugged goodbye is after this.

“Well, they love each other a lot,” she replies, somewhat helpless, somewhat exasperated, and you find yourself agreeing as you watch your roommates sob into each other’s shoulders while hugging as if the world is about to come to an end.

**0918—**

The rice omelette Ryuji made is a bit lopsided and maybe falling apart, but the ‘made with love’ drawn onto it in sauce is adorable. “Are you trying to expand your repertoire?” you ask him while eyeing the lean chicken cuts and vegetable rice he’s had for the third time this week opposite of your cutesy omelette.

He sighs and picks at a piece of broccoli with disdain. “I wanna make something nice for Ann when she gets back.” You hum and cut into your food, steam rising from it. Ryuji gives it a longing stare. “You think rice omelette is too simple?”

“You could try those character pancakes.”

Ryuji perks up for a grand total of 1.5 seconds before his face falls again. “Yeah, great idea, dude, except that those things are complicated and I can’t even draw.”

You shrug. “Neither can I,” you say, taking the first bite of the omelette, only to find it surprisingly tasty. “We could practise it together, though.”

His expression brightens at that, finally stuffing the poor broccoli in his mouth. “Or maybe Yusuke could help! With the drawing part, at least.”

“Would you really willingly make him choose between preserving his art and eating?”

Ryuji meets your eye. “Which one would he choose?” he whispers, sounding almost frightened. You swallow, because you don’t know either. You’re kind of horrified by the fact that both of you seem ready to subject one of your closest friends to a social experiment of sorts _just to see what happens_.

“We shouldn’t go there,” you reply, also whispering for no reason, and take another bite of your food. It really _is_ good. “The omelette is great, Ryuji.”

The segue away from whatever your previous topic was is clumsy, but Ryuji stills goes red in the cheeks as he grins. “You think so?”

**0918—**

Ryuji’s neck is sunburnt from the last summery day in September. When you rub the aloe balm into his skin, he sighs. “I didn’t think I’d need sunscreen,” he says, huffing.

Through the screen, all the way from Norway, Ann rolls her eyes. “You didn’t get sunscreen, so now you’re getting skin cancer,” she says, and you feel Ryuji tense under your hands.

“No, it doesn’t work that way. Does it?”

He’s twisting around in his seat now, looking at you with an expression you can only call _begging_. You shrug. “I mean, sure,” you reply, and his eyes go wide, “but not from getting sunburnt once.”

“I’ve had sunburns before, though,” he says, and you can hear Ann snigger.

“Great going, Takamaki,” you scold her, manoeuvring around Ryuji’s shoulder to throw her a disapproving glare that may just turn out a bit too fond to be reprimanding.

“You’re gonna die, Ryuji,” she laughs, and only then does he realise that she’s not entirely serious about this.

**1018—**

It’s sunny when you leave the grocery store, but that doesn’t stop the rain from falling. “C’mon, man, it’s just a slight drizzle,” Ryuji insists, shuffling the flimsy shopping bags around as he steps out from the automatic sliding doors.

You regret not bringing an umbrella, but then again, the forecast hadn’t said anything about a chance of rain. “I suppose,” you reply after a small pause and trail uselessly after Ryuji.

The little sun-shower is warm and the individual droplets feel like tiny pinpricks against your skin. Your glasses fog up, and you feel your hair getting frizzier by the second, but the afternoon shines golden, and everything seems just a second slower than usual.

So you laugh, because it feels like relief, and Ryuji turns to look at you over his shoulder, standing still to let you catch up. “What’s up with you?” he asks, either exasperated or fond, and grins all the same. “Something on my face?”

And you look at him, then—as if scrutinising him, through milky lenses and five o’clock liquid light, and shake your head. His hair has been getting longer than he prefers, and in the afternoon sun, the split ends of it halo his head where the drizzle hasn’t plastered them to his head. He looks like sunshine and feels twice as warm standing next to you and your rain-cold skin, and it makes you want to kiss him just a bit.

“Want me to cut your hair?” you ask him instead, and he blinks at you before rubbing his nose.

“I’ll leave that one to Ann. No offense,” he answers, and goes red all the way up to his ears.

“None taken,” you say, and take one of the shopping bags from his hand, brushing your knuckles against his before you pull away. His flush brightens along with his expression, and as the sound of gentle rain is replaced by an anecdote from work Ryuji just remembered and you keep walking home, you wonder if Ryuji sometimes thinks about kissing you, too.

**1018 –**

The video quality in Skype is kind of grainy, but Ann’s exhausted smile all the way from Bergen, Norway, is as bright as the sun rising behind her. “Another fun day ahead,” she says with yesterday’s mascara and today’s breakfast smeared across her face. “I’m tired, but it’s fun.”

“Are the Norwegians treating you right?” you ask her, shovelling your late lunch/early dinner into your mouth.

Ann sighs. “The girls are all so pretty and _tall_ ,” she sighs. In your book, Ann is already pretty tall. You’re kind of afraid of Norway.

“How tall?” you ask, despite yourself, and spill some rice on your keyboard.

“Some are taller than 180cm, I think.”

“Woah.”

She laughs, and it cuts through the silence in your apartment like a tinny chime. Even through the grainy quality and clear exhaustion, Ann is gorgeous as always.

You miss her terribly.

“How’s Ryuji?”

“Same old, same old,” you reply, and shove another spoonful into your mouth. “Says he’s busy with work so he doesn’t have to admit he misses you.”

Again, she laughs. “You know, I’m getting pretty good at Norwegian, I think.” You raise a brow at her. “I picked up Swedish back in Finland, and they’re pretty close.”

“You’ve always been good with languages.”

Ann preens a bit under the praise, you think. “I learned ‘Jeg elsker dig’,” she says with all the gravity in the world, and you wish you knew what it meant.

**1018—**

Ryuji Sakamoto—

It’ll be almost Ann’s birthday when she gets back, you know.

Me—

I guess.

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Have you thought about what to get her yet?

Me—

What brought this on?

Ryuji Sakamoto—

I just walked by a jewellery store and got thinking is all.

But that’d be out of line, right?

Me—

How about we get her the unhealthiest chocolate cake ever?

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Those are the wise words of the Phantom Thieves’ leader.

**1018—**

“I’d prefer yours, of course,” Haru says with a sweet smile and the faintest hint of a blush. She takes a dainty sip of her coffee after that, looking pleased with the taste regardless.

“If you ever find the time,” you tell her, raising your own cup to your mouth.

Haru nods, hair that you remember being shorter bouncing with the action. “I’d like that!” she replies, and her high, airy voice and bright expression make you feel like you’re sixteen-bordering-on-seventeen again, worrying about far greater things than finding the time to fix a friend some coffee.

The porcelain clinks as you set your cup down. “So, how is Officer Niijima doing these days?” you ask once silence settles between the two of you.

“Oh, she’s so busy!” Haru says, red-cheeked and exasperated with fondness. “We rarely see each other anymore, despite living together. Though she seems really happy, too. I’m glad for her.”

There’s something serene about how Haru takes her next sip of coffee, eyes fluttering shut. Her nail polish is baby blue, and her cup’s rim is stained with lipstick. She sighs contently, and then tells you almost two months’ worth of police-stories.

**1018—**

The leaves around the park have turned all kinds of oranges and reds these past days. You watch the stone Ryuji skips along the pond’s surface push some floating ones aside with the ripples it causes.

“Four times!” he cheers, and turns to you as if he was expecting praise. There’s a slight flush across his cheeks, and it does _something_ to you. You fight the urge to look away and instead throw him a smirk.

“That’s pretty good,” you say in a deliberate drawl, making a show of languidly picking a stone off the ground. You weigh it in your palm and consider it with exaggerated deliberation. Ryuji scoffs, and when you look back up, he’s rolling his eyes.

In truth, you have no idea if you can make it skip more than four times. But it’s October now, and Ann is in Norway, and you may very well be in love with two of your best friends at once, and life’s such a mess anyways, isn’t it? It’s not like losing to Ryuji in _skipping stones_ is going to be your undoing.

You grip the stone lightly, gather some momentum by pulling back your forearm, and—

“Dude!” yells Ryuji, delighted, as the stone gracelessly plops into the water without skipping once. He’s positively glowing beside you, bleach-yellow blending in with the autumn-coloured scenery, and your lungs feel full.

“I won,” you laugh, “I won.”

**1118—**

Ann returns on the first day of November to a bleary Thursday morning in Tokyo. She’s wearing sunglasses and a hoodie that might not be hers but seems awfully familiar, her hair in what probably had been a bun before international flights got involved.

She’s the most beautiful person on this side of the boarding area nonetheless.

Next to you, Ryuji suddenly stands at full attention, and in the seconds it takes for Ann to spot you amidst the small crowd of waiting friends and family, he’s already a good few metres ahead of you. “Ryuji, don’t yell,” you hiss after him, and you think you see his jaw clamp shut from behind.

Ann probably knows what’s to come, because she makes sure to set her luggage down properly before Ryuji can reach her. Then _she’s_ the one pulling Ryuji into a hug, and Ryuji, in a display of petty one-upmanship, lifts her off the ground and twirls her around. They’re laughing, and the people around you seem put off by their borderline indecent amount of PDA, but that’s entirely on them.

“It’s great to have you back,” Ryuji says, putting Ann back down. Then, giving her a quick once-over, “And my hoodie, too.”

She laughs in reply—wetly, you note—and lightly hits his shoulder. “I missed you, too,” she says before disentangling herself from Ryuji’s embrace. Turning to you, she grins and holds her arms open. “And you.”

You laugh before hugging her. “Welcome back. It’s good to have you home,” you tell her, smoothing a hand over the hair that’s tumbled from her bun. “Did you leave Norway standing?”

Ann snorts, the frames of her sunglasses digging into your collarbone. “I only tore down, like, half of it,” she says, and somehow, the mental image of Ann destroying some poor Scandinavian country like a fluffy blonde Godzilla makes you laugh.

**1118—**

There’s a distinct difference between Ann’s work and private Instagram accounts, and you can’t help but laugh at the discrepancy sometimes.

While tens of thousands of people get to see Ann Takamaki in borderline seductive poses, or wearing bathing suits that leave barely anything to the imagination, or giving anyone who’d look at her bedroom eyes, it’s much less intimate than the 30-or-so follower account that has a selfie of her squatting in the boarding area of Oslo Gardermoen Airport with her sunglasses on and a beanie on her head that must have come off during the flight for her latest post.

It’s chock full of shoddily edited memes, unflattering photos, silly videos and the occasional good but entirely too private picture; Ann smiling with Suzui when she’d visited her for a long weekend, her parents across the table at what you presume to be a fancy restaurant.

Even dolled-up in her model shots, Ann can’t shake how _authentic_ she is by nature. To thousands upon thousands of people, her beauty is only skin-deep, still. But the full extent of her authenticity, and the beauty of her sincerity, her humour, her care and affection, and deep, _deep_ loyalty, is reserved only for 30-or-so people.

You kind of love that you’re among them, and give her airport-selfie a like.

**1118—**

“He’s been practising hard,” you tell Ann as she eyes the ‘Welcome home!!!’ written in sauce on top of the omelette in front of her. She’d been out of commission for two days with jetlag, and she somehow looks sick at the prospect of eating anything solid after subsisting off soups between naps since getting back.

In front of you, a similar omelette sits, except that this one says ‘I’m getting the hang of this!’ in a terribly Ryuji manner. “If you can’t stomach it, that’s fine, you know?” you say. “I’m sure Ryuji would mind more if you threw it up.”

That earns you a laugh, and Ann meets your eye. “I’ve only been gone a month, and now Ryuji can cook,” she says. She sounds blasé about it, but her hands clench on top of the table. “Imagine what would happen if I were gone two months.”

“To be fair, Ryuji can cook exactly _one_ dish,” you say. Another laugh. “He wanted to treat you to something. That’s why he kept at it.”

She goes misty-eyed across from you, looking back at the omelette. “It’s... it’s cute,” she says, and you’re not sure if she’s talking about the food or Ryuji’s behaviour.

“It was lonely without you,” you tell her. “It’s only home with the two of you here.”

She sniffles. “I know what you mean.”

The locket around her neck gleams in the late afternoon light, and you love her so much.

**1118—**

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Did you order the cake???

Me—

Oh no.

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Dude! You had one job!

Me—

[Attached image_7390199.jpg]

Just kidding uwu

Here’s the receipt.

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Did you just uwu me.

**1118—**

It’s awfully cold out for November, but at least the cake you bought will stay fresher this way. You make sure not to bump the bag containing the box into anything as you make your way towards the site of Ann’s shooting.

When you get there, she’s already waiting for you, bunched up in a coat with her scarf pulled up to her nose. “Sorry,” you say as you greet her, “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

But Ann shakes her head and chances a curious glance at your bag. “Ooh, what’s that?” she asks, as if she wasn’t at all familiar with the logo of the cake shop visible through the flimsy plastic.

Yet, you humour her, and theatrically hold it open. “I got you a cake,” you answer, and when her curious expression gives way to glee, you smile right back at her. “Happy birthday,” you say, because Ann is turning nineteen today and her smile hasn’t changed since you met her at sixteen.

“Thanks!” she cheers and links her arm with yours the second she knows the cake to be safe at your side. The streetlights on this exceptionally cold November night make her platinum hair shine a brilliant almost-white, and with the professional makeup still left on her face, she is _radiant_.

The two of you make your way home amidst the evening crowd, because taking the train would result in a smashed birthday cake, and the place where your sides meet is warm, even through both your coats. You shoot Ryuji a quick text that you might still be a while, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Perhaps, you think, he might even try to get some last-minute decorating for an impromptu party in.

Your phone screen twitches around as a single snowflake lands on it and melts, and when you look up the dark sky, you find quite a few more flakes drifting down. Ann stares up at them too, entirely mesmerised, and you pull her along as you enter your neighbourhood with a soft huff of a laugh that devolves into full-blown giggles shared between the two of you by the time you walk up to your building.

Ann lets you go to fish for your keys—at least you believe she does—before her hand stops you and settles in the crook of your elbow. “Hey,” she breathes, softly, and the fog streaming past her lips might be louder than her voice. She blinks up at you through lashes clumped together with mascara and snowflakes, and then she leans in.

On November 12th at 6:47PM, Ann Takamaki kisses you.

She turns nineteen today. Her smile still hasn’t changed a bit.

On November 12th at 6:48PM, you kiss her back.

**1118—**

Ann Takamaki—

Hey, Ryuji?

Ryuji Sakamoto—

What did you do?

Ann Takamaki—

Nothing! Why do you think I did something!

There’s something we need to tell you.

Me—

Let’s talk when we’re all home tonight?

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Sure?

**1118—**

Sae Niijima, attorney at law, is surprisingly unthreatening with her silvery hair pulled into a ponytail and her smart pantsuit halfway discarded until only the pant-part remains.

That, and the fact that her easy, cheerful smile does wonders for her.

She’s always been gorgeous, but also terrifying. Doubly so when relentlessly squeezing information out of you like a wrought-dry lemon while you were drugged out of your mind. It’s the little things, really.

In her shirtsleeves, in a booth at Leblanc, she’s just a friend’s older sister—maybe a friend in her own right, even. “Good evening,” she says pleasantly, and you have no reason not to slip into the seat across from her once Sojiro has fixed you a cup of coffee. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” you agree, only now noticing the incessantly glowing phone in front of her, lighting up with a new message every few seconds. She follows your line of sight before shoving it into her pocket with a sigh. “Busy?” you ask.

“You probably can’t imagine,” she replies, but seems content regardless. “So, Makoto already told me you’ve been back in the city for a few months now. How are you holding up? Are you enjoying your studies?”

Her voice still has a stern authority to it, but her smile is warm. “Uni is exhausting, but I enjoy the course. It’s really nothing, compared to stealing hearts.”

Sae seems shocked at your words before she laughs. “Yes, I can imagine,” she says.

“And how are you, Niijima-san?”

She considers the question for a few seconds; you take a sip from your coffee. “Horribly busy,” she admits, “but... it’s fulfilling.” Her smile drives her point further home, eyes bright and crinkling at the edges. “I’ve only learned how ineffectual and unfair our justice system truly is these past few years. I can’t help every defendant—far from it, really. But trying, for their sake as well as this country’s and not lastly my own, it’s...”

“It feels like redemption?” you ask.

Sae only nods, grateful if anything. “That may be just it.” She takes a sip from the glass next to her. It looks to be ginger ale; perhaps she’s developed a nervous stomach. “It feels like this is what I am supposed to do. And I’m glad that I have found my place.”

There’s something wonderful and adoring about the way she looks at you. She reminds you of her sister. “You and Makoto are both inspiring,” you tell her earnestly. “If not everyone, at least I know that the both of you are fighting for justice.”

She looks down at her hands, clearly fighting a smile. “Justice,” she echoes. Then, she meets your eye and lets the smile bloom. “I appreciate that sentiment.”

**1118—**

You idly stare at Ryuji as you iron the accumulated laundry of all three of you, and can’t help but wonder why Ann decided to go for _you_. Her affection for Ryuji has always felt like something definitive, a foregone conclusion in a way. Unless you are very horribly misreading things, he would have seemed like the most obvious choice—one you would have encouraged, for it would have made both of them happy, you think.

(Or maybe you just enjoy the thought of them together, which is a terribly voyeuristic sentiment that you won’t explore until the late hours of the night, thank you very much.)

Not that you don’t enjoy the newfound level Ann’s casual intimacy has risen to; quite the opposite, in fact. The random kisses she presses to your mouth, given so freely and easily, make your head spin and heart pound straight out of your ribcage. The way her cold, cold fingers slot between yours so easily and smoothly, and her skin feels like silk where it touches the abused redness of your frostbitten knuckles, is something that makes you weak in the knees.

It’s only been a few days, and you’re already at Ann’s mercy.

But you still wonder if she would treat Ryuji the same way. If Ryuji secretly wishes he were the one she was holding hands with. If you could pretend to mind if he did.

You are, of course, counting your blessings. It’s not like you’re going to hurt Ann by hanging onto these sentiments for much longer. In a few weeks, all of this will be entirely out of your system, because the roots for it have only been two and a half years in the making. You’ve indulged in this flight of fancy for too long, but Ann’s glossy lips gave you a satisfactory answer to end your indecisiveness.

“Something smells weird,” Ryuji says from where he’s sitting on his bed, and you look down to see one of Ann’s dresses pretty much molten to the surface of the iron. Lost in thoughts, then. “What did you do?”

You raise the iron to show him. “Polyester, I guess.”

**1118—**

It’s steadily getting colder out, but the sea breeze is still oddly pleasant. Ann stands next to you, bare hands clinging to the cold metal railing before her, and grins in delight.

The wind makes her cheeks flush red. Her loose hair is either held down by her scarf or flowing behind her. “Doesn’t this feel like freedom?” she asks, and you wonder what she means. The rainbow bridge looms just off to the right, a bit closer to the horizon, and you frown. Ann inhales deeply and audibly. “It feels like my lungs are frozen.”

“Do frozen lungs feel like freedom?” you ask her back. She lets out a weak cough and gently slaps your upper arm. It makes you smile. Her body, mere centimetres away from yours, radiates warmth, and the air tastes crisp on your tongue.

It’s easy; way too easy, maybe. You’ve never dated, and barely anything feels changed. Ann laughs in delight when a particularly strong gust of wind sweeps past you. “I love you, you know,” you say, because, after all, barely anything has changed.

November is coming to an end. Something is shrivelling inside your frozen lungs, right next to where your heart blooms with red-hot affection. Ann smiles, with the setting sun painting the tears in her eyes crystalline. “Me, too,” she says with her lips chapped under a layer of pink lipstick.

You stare at the skyline in the distance, where lights turn on as the oranges of sunset crawl past windows and streets. You take Ann’s hand, your woollen glove around her dry skin, and feel the chill in her bones melt into your fingertips.

**1218—**

There’s a small flowerpot with mint inside it on your kitchen counter—or rather, with what _used_ to be mint. “Dead from neglect,” Ryuji laments, and pokes the dried up leaves. They crunch. Ann stares at the withered plant with the most forlorn gaze.

“We’re horrible people,” she says and breaks off a dry to leaf to grind it to dust between her fingers. “But did we even use it for anything?”

“I made tea from it, once,” you supply and snatch the pot from between them.

Ryuji huffs. “So, it’s basically useless is what you’re saying.”

You only hum as you cradle the plant close to you and dig around your cutlery drawer for a pair of scissors. “Maybe,” you say, and start cutting the stems off right above the dirt they sprout from.

“What are you doing?” Ann yells, and you try not to laugh.

“Mint is just a weed.” You put the scissors down, holding the pot up for them to look at. “Cut it and water it, and it will grow back.”

**1218—**

Officially, you suppose, he isn’t dead yet. Missing, yes, but not dead, because his body was never found and has since sunk to the bottom of an imaginary ocean that may as well never have existed at all. It’s a cruel fate, to be missing but not dead. It’s limbo, after a fashion. Purgatory, limited to seven years’ time.

The final gunshot still rings in your ears like tinnitus.

You put down a rock in lieu of a gravestone, almost two years ago, right in front of the diet building. It’s since been picked up—cleaned away, really—so you stand before the cast-iron fences and pretend not to resent the fact that even his makeshift grave had no right to last.

Maybe someone out there mourns him. Maybe his adoring fans haven’t moved on yet. Maybe people _do_ wonder where he went and why. Maybe he will be given a proper grave, someday.

It’s lonely, to be missing but not dead.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. A raindrop hits the ground next to you, yet the day is stiflingly pleasant, without a cloud in the sky. You feel like you should be drenched to the bone instead.

Akechi’s ghost stalks the streets you walk on, but you’re the only one who seems to care.

**1218—**

Haru Okumura—

It may not be conventional in the spirit of the holiday, but Mako-chan and I thought it might be nice to do a Christmas get-together this year!

Futaba Sakura—

Ooh! Nice, Haru!

Ann Takamaki—

Should we get a Christmas cake?

Me—

Futaba, can you ask Sojiro if it’s okay for us to meet at Leblanc, maybe?

Futaba Sakura—

You know it, Leader Man!

Makoto Niijima—

@Ann Takamaki A cake would be great, thank you.

Yusuke Kitagawa—

I would greatly enjoy meeting up.

Futaba Sakura—

The boss says it’s a-okay!

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Nice!

Haru Okumura—

This is great! And it seems like everyone has time, too!

Makoto Niijima—

We’ll figure out what we might need to get as we go along, then.

Ann Takamaki—

Yeah!

**1218—**

Mishima has barely grown since high school, which is both funny and sad for an ex-volleyball player. His expression isn’t half as miserable as it used to be, though. “Oh! It’s been such a long time, I barely recognised you!” he says as he spots you amidst the evening crowd, face lighting up.

“Do I really look that different?” you ask him, and he considers you in a joking way that speaks of much more social proficiency than what you’re used to from him. “I _did_ get taller.”

“Maybe that’s it,” he says. “I couldn’t tell you apart from all the sky-scrapers.”

The easy banter is so surprising that you cough out a laugh. “Must be it,” you agree, and think that there’s maybe five centimetres between the two of you. “What brings you back to Tokyo?”

He smiles and rolls back onto his heels, hands in his pockets in a familiar manner. “I’m visiting my girlfriend for Christmas,” he says. Maybe he preens. Yuuki Mishima has a girlfriend. Life really does go on.

“Let’s get a move on, then,” you say, tilting your head in a way that indicates towards the evening crowd. You haven’t yet decided on where to get dinner. “I don’t want to keep you from your lady for too long.”

**1218—**

Ann leans back in her seat, her side up flush against you. Your joined hands rest on your thigh.

“It’s been a _month_ ,” Ryuji says, gesturing towards the two of you. “They’ve been like this ever since.”

Haru giggles. “Well, that’s how the honeymoon-phase is,” she says. Makoto gives her a look that’s trapped somewhere between irritated and offended. Haru pats her cheek. “Don’t pout, Mako-chan.”

“Ryuji’s jealous,” Futaba says. She cuts another piece out of the Christmas cake and hands it to Yusuke on a plate.

“I’m not,” Ryuji insists, ramming his fork into his cake with unnecessary force. You wonder how to interpret his reaction. “I’m,” and here, he sends the two of you a fond, wistful gaze, “happy for you. Seriously.”

Ann laughs something airy and bright. You feel her shake against you. “Oh Ryuji,” she says, with that special brand of love she reserves for him. Your heart aches and you squeeze Ann’s hand.

You still love them. Both of them.

Yusuke clears his throat, drawing your attention. “Could I please have a fork?” he asks, forlornly staring at his cake, and Futaba chucks one at his chest like a javelin that he, thankfully, catches before it can do any damage.

**1218—**

You’ve already turned off the lights in your shared room when Ryuji heaves an almighty sigh from where he’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“What’s up?” you ask him, turning over as if to look at him through the darkness and the lack of several dioptres.

He shifts audibly, probably mimicking your exact pose, and sighs again. “I... don’t know, I just...” he trails off, then shifts around some more. You can almost picture him fidgeting, those two metres away from you. “This is stupid.”

That has you propping yourself up on one arm. “What is?”

Ryuji groans, and you think you can hear the distinct sound of his hand connecting with his face. “Okay, so you know how I like hot girls, yeah? Man, I see so many of them these days at the gym. They’re all toned and shit, right? It’s a- _mazing_ ,” he rambles. You almost scoff.

“ _Ryuji_ ,” you interrupt him in the best impression of a very disappointed Sojiro you can manage. “Is this really all you want to say?”

He exhales loudly. “I really like girls,” he repeats—almost as if he was insisting on it—before his voice grows unusually small. “But... y’know, I always thought... Yusuke is kinda pretty, too.”

Oh.

“So, what you’re saying is that... you have a crush on Yusuke?”

Ryuji splutters and audibly punches his mattress in surprise. “What!? No!” he screeches. “You’re—that’s—why’s that what you take away from that!?”

You could argue that it’s because that’s exactly what he said, but, you suppose, that would only rile him up further. “Sorry,” you say, and Ryuji sighs. A moment passes, and you pick at your bedspread in thought.

_Oh._

“You like boys, then?” you chance another guess.

Ryuji inhales slow and loud, but doesn’t answer. He’s not asleep—you know for a fact that he isn’t. You won’t press him, though, because his silence is enough of an answer, and saying ‘yes’ in this situation is scarily definitive and _real_.

You pillow your head on your upper arm and close your eyes. “You know, I think Yusuke is kinda pretty, too,” you whisper, and Ryuji’s little gasp haunts you in your dreams.

**0119—**

“Happy new year!” Ann screeches, clapping as the countdown on TV reaches zero, therefore sparing you from any further variety shows your girlfriend insists on watching.

“Happy new year!” echoes Ryuji, raising his water glass in some sort of toast. Ann giggles and pulls him against her side, smacking an overly wet kiss against his cheek. “Gross! Ann, that’s gross!”

You snort and clink your own glass against the one Ryuji is still holding up and wait for Ann to come around to give you a possibly even wetter kiss. “Happy new year,” you say, and only a second later does Ann disentangle herself from Ryuji, planting her lips against your temple.

Yup, way too wet.

**0119—**

The shrine is bustling, but you still manage to squeeze in somewhere with Ryuji by your side. The offertory box clinks as you toss in some coins. Ann got lost somewhere in the commotion, or maybe someone recognised her. Her being semi-famous nowadays still has you adjusting.

Ryuji slaps his flat palms together in prayer, and you snap back to the situation at hand. His nose almost touches his thumbs as he bows his head, his brows furrowed in concentration. There’s something adorable about it, but you don’t allow yourself dwell on it. Instead, you simply mirror his pose and think of something to pray for.

Perhaps it’s your bad track record with higher beings that makes you unable to do much but circle through a very standard _good health, good grades, good luck_ in earnest, but ultimately, it is what it is.

“What did you pray for?” Ryuji asks when you lower your hands. You feel a bit silly with the bare-bones reply you have to give him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “I was feeling kinda bold,” he says, “and decided to pray for luck in love.” He scratches his nose, then, looking at his shoes. His cheeks are a bit red. “Can’t have you and Ann outdo me like that,” he says.

Your heart swells to twice its normal size; at least it feels like it, with how hard it tries to beat its way out of your ribcage. “Speaking of,” you say, maybe to distract from the heat in your own cheeks, “we should go look for her, shouldn’t we?”

Ryuji shrugs. “We could also draw some fortunes first,” he suggests.

(Turns out that Ann is the one to find the two of you some minutes later, after Ryuji is finally done laughing at the strip reading ‘great misfortune’ in your hands.)

**0119—**

You startle awake at the squeal coming from next to you. As you squint through the darkness, the only thing you can make out is the vague outline of Ann’s face, illuminated by her phone’s screen. “What’s up?” you ask her, and you voice is still rough with sleep.

She shifts and holds her phone out towards you. Apart from hurting your eyes, it doesn’t do much for you. “No glasses,” you tell her, and she immediately pulls it back towards her with an embarrassed little ‘oh’.

“My manager said she could hook me up for a gig on TV,” she says. Perhaps you can’t see her smile clearly, but you know exactly how it looks like. “Wouldn’t that just be awesome? I haven’t been on TV since back when we went to that studio in high school!”

Something bitter settles in the pit of your stomach, as it always does when you are reminded of Goro Akechi. You don’t dwell on it, though, if only out of respect for Ann’s happiness. “Sounds great,” you tell her, smiling. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

“Wouldn’t it be so cool if I could also become an actress?” she says. “Maybe this is my stepping stone! I just need the exposure, and boom! A star is made.”

You don’t know much about these things, but that scenario doesn’t seem quite right. (And maybe her lack of actual acting talent leaves you doubly weary.) Still, you don’t want to burst her bubble first thing in the morning. “ _Will_ you have to act?”

She pauses, presumably to read her mail again. You close your eyes. “I’ll just stand in the background, I think,” she replies after a while, more dejected now.

“They’ll hire you again,” you say around a yawn, “and again and again...” You feel her pat your head before she ruffles your hair. The gesture makes you tingly with warmth.

**0119—**

Ann posts a picture of her kissing your cheek to her private Instagram. It’s in front of the bare trees in Inokashira Park, the blue sky shining through between the branches. She looks extremely cute in it, with her nose squished against your cheek and her face red from the cold. She’s incredibly cheerful, while you are caught up between constipated and awkward.

_hanging w/ the bf!!!_ her caption reads, followed by several emojis.

It’s a nice photo, and you can’t look at it for more than a second without getting flustered.

**0119—**

“So, what’s your type?” you ask Ryuji, your controller abandoned in favour of shoving a handful of gummy worms in your mouth.

“Wipe your hand off before touching that again,” he says, pointing at your controller. Then, he sighs and leans back on his hands. “Well, I mean, you know I love girls with a hot bod—“

“I know,” you interrupt. Chew. Swallow. Ryuji watches you with rapt attention. “I mean, the _other_ type. Yusuke aside, of course.”

He flushes. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?” You shake your head and he groans in mock-exasperation. He shrugs. “The thing is, I don’t know.”

It’s surprisingly unsurprising. His ideal woman is a very vague concept already, so his ideal man can only be harder for him to envision. “Why would you suspect it, then? That you...” and you pause, because you’re not sure if you’re allowed to state it plainly.

Ryuji stares at his feet, sprawled out before him on the living room floor. “Because I really liked someone,” he admits, wiggling his toes.

You hum sympathetically as you lick the sour sugar off your palm. “Was it Y—“

“Shut up, man,” Ryuji scoffs. It only makes you snigger, but he’s grinning, too. “I just wanted to tell someone. And I mean, I trust you, so I thought ‘what the hell’ and told you. I don’t even know if it was a total fluke, or if it was a one-time thing, or if this is just how it is, now.”

“It’s not like you have to know these things for sure,” you say, patting his shoulder with your slobber-free hand, “or stick by some label. It’s whatever you want it to be.”

“I guess.”

There’s something left unsaid hanging between you, but even this much openness is enough; you won’t press him. Instead, you sling your arm around his neck and pull him in an uncomfortable side-hug that is almost a headlock. “You liked a boy,” you say,

After a second, you feel Ryuji huff a laugh. “I liked a boy.”

**0119—**

“What colour Skittle would you be?” Ann asks, entirely serious, as you wait for the show she starred on to start.

“Purple,” Ryuji says without hesitation. It’s either the most obvious choice for him, or he’s given the topic some thought before.

You need longer to come up with a reply. “Red, maybe?” you say, though it comes out sounding less like an answer and more like a question. “They’re the most candy-like.”

“How are some Skittles more candy than others?” Ryuji laughs, and, honestly, you don’t know.

“I think it makes sense. In a way,” Ann says. She sinks back into the couch cushions. “Okay, what M&M colour?”

“They have personalities.” It’s a weak argument that only earns you a shrug from Ann. “The brown one is a secretary lady.”

“The green one is hot,” Ryuji says, looking up from the phone in his lap in horror. Oh, he looked it up, then. “Why did they make the green M&M hot?”

**0119—**

You’ve gotten so used to drinking your coffee plain and black that the vanilla latte Hifumi buys you tastes almost alien to you. Not in a bad way though—and even if it did, you would still appreciate it.

The café you’ve found yourselves in is cosy. The atmosphere alone makes you want to whip out one of the books you’ve bought and read it there until closing time. “This is very nice,” Hifumi says, a bit red in the cheeks still, and inhales the scent of her green tea with a smile. “Thanks for coming with me today.”  
  


“It’s my pleasure, really.” You take a sip of your latte and idly watch some people pass by the glass storefront. “I’m glad we got to catch up again after so long.”

Hifumi smiles, somehow more youthful than years ago. “And you’re all out of strategy questions, I take it?”

“I got nothing.”

“What a shame,” she laughs in that understated manner of hers and takes a sip of her tea. Her expression turns a smidge devious. “Not even in your private affairs?”

You stare at her. There’s a familiar glint in her eye; the one that would always appear when she’d just outmanoeuvred you in shogi. “Perhaps,” you answer. “What would you do if you could potentially do two equally viable plays?”

This probably isn’t in line with shogi-rules, but it’s all about analogies here. Hifumi must understand it, as well. “Is one more risky than the other? Or are both safe bets?”

“One is definitely more risky.” You drink some more of your coffee. “Let’s suppose I already did the safe play. The other move is still viable after my opponent’s turn.”

Hifumi’s eyes narrow. It takes you a minute to understand that she might think you’re considering flat-out _cheating_. “Then you’re free to play that, too,” she says. “But you should be aware that you might lose the play you set up with the other piece.”

“It isn’t the way you probably think,” you tell her. “You’d need to see the way the game is set up to understand.”

“Well,” she says, tilting her head so the smooth curtain of her hair falls over her shoulder, “maybe I would need to look at the whole game, if it’s that situational. But I think that you have enough game sense to _not_ lose a winning round because of some amateurish blunder.”

**0119—**

Ann Takamaki—

Baby.

Darling.

Sugar pie.

Honey.

Light of my life.

Are you coming home soon?

Me—

Is something on fire?

Ann Takamaki—

No, sweetheart, I just miss you!

...

Also, spider in the shower.

Me—

Got it.

I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.

Love you, but don’t touch the spider.

Ann Takamaki—

<3

**0219—**

Ann’s face looks back at you when you look outside of the train. For a second, you have a minor heart-attack, then you realise it’s a billboard in the subway station. It’s for some kind of makeup-stick that you, admittedly, have no idea about. Billboard-Ann winks cutely at old people, businessmen and high school kids alike, applying the makeup to one cheek.

You can’t help but take a picture of it, if only to show her later.

When you close your camera app, Ann’s perfectly staged and photoshopped smile is replaced by another picture of her. Instead of glittering under perfect lighting and makeup, she snoozes away peacefully, head against your chest, hair a mess and mouth hanging slightly ajar.

You laugh to yourself, and the office worker behind you lets out a disgruntled noise.

**0219—**

You came to Leblanc with the intention of studying, but it’s only been half an hour and you’re braiding Futaba’s hair. She sits in front of you, turned to the side in one of the booths, as Sojiro washes a few dishes.

“How come you know how to braid, anyway?” she asks, absentmindedly scrolling through her Twitter-feed while being entirely shameless about all the porn peppered in there.

“I watched tutorials,” you tell her, pinning another small braid into place before starting with the next, “because Ann insisted I learn how to.”

“Ooh, I’d like to braid Ann’s hair,” Futaba coos, and you can hear the grin in her voice. “It’s so nice!”

“Yours is easier to work with, though,” you reply, interweaving smooth ginger strands with ease. “It’s straight. Ann just has so much volume and waves. It always ends up getting tangled into knots.”

“Really,” she muses, and leans back into you. Your hands slip from her hair, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Half her torso ends up in your lap, and her head is angled awkwardly on your chest. She’s still scrolling through her social media, although she seems to have moved on to Instagram.

It’s terribly uncomfortable, supporting Futaba’s weight in this position, but you’ll bear with it for a few minutes. Sojiro hums something terribly off tune, and you start to feel sleepy.

Your textbooks lay forgotten on the table.

**0219—**

“I’m bored,” says Ann, her textbook open but stuck on the same page for an hour now. You look up from your own work and raise a brow at her. She grins at you, leaning forward in what you presume to be a very calculated move, given how much cleavage her shirt shows off. “Hey, make out with me.”

“You didn’t even do your reading,” you reply and pretend to go back to taking notes. You can pretty much hear Ann’s pout and have to try hard not to smile.

“I bet I can read your thoughts, though!” she says, shuffling around the coffee table until her side presses into yours.

You give her an unimpressed look. “Alright, what am I thinking, then?”

“Oh, you’ve been thinking ‘I can’t believe how gorgeous Ann is!’ and, of course, ‘I want to kiss her so bad!’” Ann says, a giggle underlying the theatrics she’s going for.

The smile you’ve been suppressing finally cracks. “Well, you could be more specific. That’s just what I’m thinking all day.” She blinks at you in surprise before laughing.

“Alright, wanna make it a reality, then?” she asks, hand already reaching for your cheek and—

“Guys, get a room!” Ryuji shouts from the very much open doorway to his and your shared room. You’d like to say he looks angry, but in truth, your prescription isn’t quite right anymore, so it’s all a little blurry in the distance. “I can’t keep looking at this.”

Ann detaches herself from you with a huff. “Why, afraid you’ll want in?” she yells back, only for her eyes to widen a second later. She whips her head around, staring at you with trembling brows. You wonder what kind of face Ryuji is making right now. Hell, you wonder what kind of face _you’re_ making right now. “I’m so sorry, I was only joking,” Ann says, and you just keep staring at her.

And then, at last, something absolutely, frighteningly shocking clicks into place.

**0219—**

“You think Ann will get you something for Valentine’s?” Ryuji asks. He’d snatched one of your pencils a while ago and has since busied himself by doing whatever he can think with it. Currently, he is doing a kissy mouth to hold it up between his lips and nose like a weird moustache.

You’re unfairly distracted by him. “Like what? Chocolate?”

“Nah, this ain’t high school anymore,” he says, finally setting the pencil down. He seems to seriously think for a second before he grins, waggling his eyebrows. “How about something sexy?”

The word ‘sexy’ causes heat to rise to your cheeks, and you kind of resent that. It makes you feel like some blushing virgin which you, for the record, are very definitely and emphatically _not_. “Like lingerie?”

“ _Maybe_ like lingerie? I mean, objectively speaking, your girlfriend is already a bombshell. Do you need her decorated?”

“What other kind of sexy gift is there, then?”

Ryuji picks the pencil back up and taps it against the coffee table in thought. Tap. Tap. “That’s a really good question,” he says, as if he hadn’t brought this up himself.

“Ann’s not the type,” you say. “But I’ll still brace myself for anything, from a box of chocolates to a threesome.”

**0219—**

Ann dances about in nothing but a pair of panties and an old t-shirt, lip-synching ABBA into the spatula she’s using to fry eggs with. If anyone asked you why you love her, you think you would refer them to moments like these.

“Is the Super Trouper going to let the eggs burn?” you ask her jokingly, all she does is blow you a raspberry.

“The Super Trouper can cook eggs, thank you very much!”

The front door opens and Ryuji comes in from his morning run, flushed in the face from the cold. “You know that running in too cold weather does more damage than it does you good?” you ask him, and he promptly flips you off. “Ann, why are you guys so mean?”

“You kinda provoke it,” she replies lightly and interrupts her performance to stir around the pan.

Ryuji falls heavily into the seat across from you. “Are you making breakfast?” he asks. The song switches to Waterloo. “Can I have some?”

Ann scoffs. “Mind your cholesterol, Sakamoto,” she says, turning away from the stove to shovel some of her ill-mixed scrambled egg onto the plate she’d set out for herself, originally. Then, she hands it to Ryuji, despite her words. She dumps a larger portion onto your plate and sets the pan down on the stove again.

“Thanks,” you tell her and she smiles, taking a sip from her mostly green smoothie as if it was a satisfying replacement for a proper breakfast, and leaves the rest of the eggs for Ryuji.

**0219—**

Ann Takamaki—

I got another job offer abroad!

Though it’s only in Singapore, now.

Ryuji Sakamoto—

At least you won’t be gone for so long, then!

Ann Takamaki—

Aww, Ryuji!

Maybe you’ll even learn to cook something cooler next time!

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Shut up.

Me—

Are you unhappy about it?

Ann Takamaki—

Nah, I just thought it’d be more interesting to go to America or something.

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Wow.

Me—

Ice cold, leaving us behind like this.

Wow.

**0219—**

There’s a crocheted lace mat below the fine bone china teapot Haru insisted on using because it’s _the good one_.

Makoto looks tired as she sips the obscenely strong black tea her girlfriend had brewed. “I don’t even know where to start,” she says, hands twitching with the urge to rub her temples, no doubt, were they not occupied by a teacup and saucer. “Why would you consider working for the police?”

You shrug. “There isn’t much to do with a degree in psychology.”

“Oh, there definitely is,” she argues and chugs the rest of her tea as if to make a point. “You could just become a regular psychologist. Or go into research. Anything.”

Next to Makoto, Haru sighs. The sound gives both of you pause. “He probably has his reasons,” Haru says, voice like sugar hiding ice.

“Maybe it’s just because I can sympathise with criminals, in a way,” you reply, and maybe it should be more concerning to express the sentiment to an officer of the law, were she not in the same boat as you. “Wanting to help people change just stuck with me.”

“Mako-chan is the same,” Haru says before Makoto can get a word in. “I think it’s a nice idea.”

**0319—**

Something surprising about Ann is how lightly she packs these days. “My agency and our client provide clothing and styling when I need it,” she says, “and I’ll just wear something chill when I’ve got some downtime.”

“When you’re world-famous, the paparazzi will have a field day with that attitude.”

“ _When_?”

You smile. “I don’t doubt that you’ll make it big,” you say. Ann flushes—a rare, full-on flush that dusts even her shoulders a faint pink. It’s terribly endearing and makes your heart ache and sing at the same time.

She continues packing wordlessly, and you watch her and her perpetually red-tinged ears.

**0319—**

Ann sometimes smiles at Ryuji as though he means the world to her.

It’s early, and they’re saying their goodbyes before Ann’s flight takes off, but the gentle, tender care in her eyes makes you wonder. Makes you _hope_.

She used to look at Suzui that way too—and, for a short few months, Makoto. But Suzui had changed schools and then moved into another prefecture for university, and Makoto had lost her heart to short milk-tea curls and a polite smile.

And—well. She had always had a soft-spot for Ryuji, anyways.

You wonder if you should be jealous. It would only be appropriate, you suppose. But you aren’t, and it feels strange to admit, because beyond that lies the reality that—

You know very well that you smile at Ryuji that way, too.

**0319—**

During your week without Ann, you try cleaning the apartment extra well. You start with her room: you put new sheets on her bed, dust everything off, vacuum the floor and pretend that you didn’t get buried under an avalanche of wrinkled clothing when you opened her closet.

Her being kind of a slob at times is both frustrating and very charming. Ann can be good at pretty much everything she sets her mind to. (Not that many things actually catch and _hold_ her attention, though.) Seeing the mess she leaves in her wake brings her down to normal. All her little flaws and issues don’t reflect on screens and billboards; they’re reserved for the people she loves, and you’d like to think that, just maybe, you know more of them than anybody else.

Ann is too honest to be a puzzle, so the analogy doesn’t quite work. Maybe she’s like a mosaic—a beautiful piece of art from any distance, stunning even in close-ups, but only truly to be understood the more of the full picture you see.

For now, you get a laundry hamper and start picking her mess off the floor.

**0319—**

Your first thought is that you don’t have a frame to go with the painting.

“You needn’t put it up, of course,” Yusuke says, gently patting the wood supporting the canvas, “but I thought you might enjoy it.”

It’s a piece he did for an exhibit, a year or so prior. “And you’re just giving it to me?” you ask, and he nods with a smile.

There’s something fond to the way he regards the picture—scattered oranges and yellows and everything close to that, sort of like the sun—before he looks back at you. “I’ve been sorting through some of my older pieces and decided to gift the more personal ones to friends.”

The picture looks like one he used to figure himself out. It’s caught between his love for traditional Japanese painting and a rebellion of sorts; he’d called it ‘expressionist, at least in spirit’, if you remember correctly. Not that the description helps.

“Thank you, Yusuke,” you say, “really.”

He smiles, cheeks dimpled and eyes warm like molten lead.

**0319—**

“Something sweet,” Ryuji muses and almost drops his phone into his soup. “I could look up how to make something sweet. Ann likes sweets the most, anyways.”

You hum in agreement and slurp another spoonful of your dinner. “But will you _perfect_ it in three days?” you ask him, clearly teasing, and yet, his face falls.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “Yeah, probably not.”

“She won’t mind.” He still looks downtrodden, so you reach for his shoulder and give it a little pat. “We can do it together.”

That, apparently, returns his spirits. “We can, can’t we?” He’s beaming now, and then he returns to his phone. “Alright, something that we can probably do... what’s a tah-tah-tah?”

“A what?” you ask, and before he can repeat himself, decide to snatch his phone from him. “Ryuji, that’s a Tarte Tatin.”

**0319—**

“Do you miss me?” Ann asks, all teasing. You grin, and that’s all the confirmation she needs. “Aw, babe!”

_Babe?_ Ryuji mouth from where he’s sprawled out on his bed, brows furrowed. You shrug. “Ryuji apparently takes offense to the term ‘babe’,” you say, and Ann snorts.

“Don’t worry, Ryuji!” she shouts, which doesn’t increase her volume and only makes your laptop’s speakers overdrive. It makes your ears pop, but you smile nonetheless. Grainy and some thousand kilometres away, Ann grins. “I can call you babe, too!”

Ryuji sputters, bright red. You can barely hold back your laughter. “ _Please_ call him babe.”

“Babe,” Ann says dutifully, and throws you a wink she knows Ryuji can’t see.

**0319—**

“We tried,” you say, because Ryuji isn’t yet done looking sheepish. Ann eyes the Tarte Tatin that didn’t quite survive being flipped on its head with both pity and admiration.

You hand her a fork and she takes it. “It still looks good,” she says as she digs the prongs into apple and dough, before shovelling the chunk of cake into her mouth. Her eyes widen. “This is great, guys!”

She talks with her mouth full, but that’s just how she is. You smile. “Ryuji picked out the recipe,” you tell her and watch Ryuji flush from the corner of your eye. Ann eats another forkful with a delighted grin.

“It’s delicious, Ryuji. Thank you,” she says, so earnestly. Ryuji scratches his nose but seems to preen under the praise, his chest puffing out adorably.

“As long as you like it,” he says, barely humble, and you laugh.

**0319—**

The cherry blossoms are early this year, and they’re the same colour as Ann’s lipstick, you notice.

“It’s so beautiful, no matter how many times I see it,” she says, eyes blue as the sky and hair golden in the late afternoon. Her nails dig crescents into your hand in her excitement, and her subtle little smile that moment might forever be burned into your eyes.

You’re feeling particularly cheesy, maybe, for the next thing you say is, “ _you’re_ beautiful.” And Ann flushes—pink as her lipstick, pink as the cherry blossoms—and then the quirk of her mouth turns into a full-blown grin.

Her expressions—the unrestrained, un-lacquered ones—are always stunningly gorgeous in their awkwardness, like her face wants to express every minute hint of emotion at once. She beams at you crooked and cheerful, nose scrunched up and teeth bared, eyebrows drawn together and cheeks ruddy.

You kiss her, and she hums, clearly pleased.

**0419—**

You walk into the kitchen to Ann screeching and Ryuji falling off his chair with laughter. “I can’t believe you, Ryuji! You’re such a dick!” she yells, red in the face and repeatedly kicking Ryuji’s shin. Which only serves to make him laugh harder. “This isn’t funny!”

“It is,” he wheezes, trying to scramble away out of kicking range with only relative success.

Only now do you notice the green splatters across the tabletop and Ann’s half-drunken smoothie. “What’s up?” you ask, taking the glass away before your girlfriend chooses to chuck it at Ryuji.

A beat passes before Ann smiles at you, slow and serene. “Ryuji just told me an inappropriate joke,” she says, suddenly calm over the remaining red hot anger staining her cheeks. You raise a brow at her. Ryuji looks up from below the table and _grins_. Ann motions to the smoothie in your hands. “Help yourself, I’m not in the mood anymore.”

You become aware of several things that moment:

  * It’s April fools.
  * Ryuji most likely put something disgusting into the smoothie as a joke.
  * The splatters on the table are probably from Ann spitting it out.
  * The two of them think that  
a) they are being subtle  
b) you are stupid enough to fall for this.



It’s as stupid as it is adorable, and maybe because you love them to death and also most definitely _aren’t_ a quitter, you brace yourself for impact and take a sip of the smoothie.

For a second, it feels normal. Then comes the heat.

It’s most likely a gratuitous bit of wasabi in there, judging by the taste. Your eyes are close to leaking, but you blink away the tears and ignore the burning in your nose in favour of keeping your expression as neutral as possible. Your two roommates stare at you expectantly, and you set the glass down on the table.

“Not a fan of the kale,” you say, which is surprising—that you’re saying anything at all, that is. Your tongue doesn’t feel like it’s part of your body anymore.

Ann’s eyes widen, and she promptly snatches the glass back, staring at its contents curiously. “Y-yeah,” she mutters, and, because she apparently doesn’t trust in empirical evidence the first time around and possesses no sense of self-preservation, takes another gulp of the Wasabi Hell Juice.

She spits it across the table again, but this time, Ryuji is too preoccupied getting caught in the crossfire to laugh.

You gladly do the job for him.

**0419—**

“Who even needs economics?” Ann whines, her textbook serving as a pillow rather than a source of information. Across from her, Haru laughs airily and pats her head.

“You may blame society for its importance,” she says sweetly, “and the late stages of capitalism.”

There’s a little twitch to Haru’s brow that is downright terrifying, but you seem to be the only one who notices. Ann groans into the pages of her book and picks her head up again. “I can’t do this, I’ll drop out and live off of my good looks until I become too old, at which point I will have to become a trophy wife.”

“You have that planned out already, huh,” you say.

Ann splutters. “Well!” she shouts, going red in the face. “It’s only a joke!”

“Now that you’ve unveiled your deplorable plans, I won’t marry you off the streets just like that anymore,” you tell her, much to her apparent mortification. “You’ll have to earn my hand. Maybe by winning a jousting match.” Ann goes white in the face. Haru only laughs, though.

**0419—**

Yusuke watches on in disdain as Ryuji slobbers up his ramen next to him. You wonder if he’s in a bad mood, or whether you’ve gotten so used to Ryuji’s idiosyncrasies that you’re immune to his normally upsetting behaviours.

“So, you doing any cool new projects or something?” he asks around a mouthful of noodle, and Yusuke’s hand twitches so violently that you think he might stab Ryuji with his chopsticks.

“Not at the moment, no,” Yusuke replies, tersely, and inhales some of his ramen with no more grace than Ryuji does. “I am... not sure on how to proceed. Artistically.”

You raise a brow at that. Artist’s block is nothing unusual for him, but only a month ago, he seemed quite happy. “Is uni not doing it for you anymore?” you decide to ask, and Yusuke tenses before his shoulders curl inward ever so slightly.

“In truth, I considered dropping out at the start of the current semester,” he replies. He looks terribly small as he sits at the counter wedged between you and Ryuji, despite towering over both of you. “I feel like I am losing myself amidst the assignments. When I sorted through my old pieces, I realised that my identity has slowly been fading from my works over time.”

“But what would you do if not art? I mean, is there anything you _can_ do?” Ryuji asks, and it’s genuine enough to not come across as callous.

Yusuke considers the question, setting his chopsticks down. “That might just be why I cannot bring myself to quit.”

“Have you tried other forms of art?” you ask.

His brows furrow. “Sculpting?”

You shake your head. “I was thinking more along the lines of music, for example. Or maybe poetry? I think you’d be good at that.”

“Yeah, you use all those fancy words all the time,” Ryuji agrees.

“As an alternative?” Yusuke asks.

You smile and shrug. “As a way to balance everything out.”

**0419—**

Ann Takamaki—

I have a weird question for you.

Me—

It’s probably not the weirdest thing you’ve ever asked me.

Shoot.

Ann Takamaki—

Oh, it’s not all that important after all.

Never mind.

Me—

You know you can tell me anything, right?

Ann Takamaki—

I know, sweetheart.

It’s nothing bad, don’t worry.

I just need to think about this some more first.

Me—

No pressure.

Ask me whenever you’re ready.

**0519—**

Ann sighs softly against the nape of your neck before her lips chase her breath there. “Hey, remember that thing I’ve been wondering about?” she asks, so close to your skin that you can’t help but shiver.

“I do.” She kisses you as a reward. “What was it?” you ask, trying hard not to give in and turn around.

“Well,” she mumbles into your neck, hands coming around your shoulders and travelling down your arms with deliberate slowness. It’s a manipulation-tactic, you know. One that makes goosebumps rise all over your skin. “I kinda want to know what you think about poly relationships.”

You feel yourself go rigid.

“What brought this on?” you ask her.

Ann’s hands return to your shoulders and start kneading them. “Oh, just... just curious, is all,” she dismisses, thumbs digging into you with more force than necessary.

You decide this is going nowhere fast, so you humour her. “I think there is an appeal,” you reply, because it’s a diplomatic thing to say. Ann’s kneading eases up again, and a relieved exhale hits the nape of your neck.

“Right?” she asks. Then, in a tiny voice, “The truth is, I have feelings for someone else.”

_This is it_ , you think. This is the Ryuji-shaped elephant in the room you’ve neglected to address for a few months at this point.

(Either that, or you really _have_ misread a lot of things in the past.)

“Ryuji?” you ask, and Ann gasps. “If so, then me, too.”

“Really?”

  
“Really.”

Ann’s hands disappear from your shoulders, only to cup your jaw from behind. When she uses her hold to tilt your head back, she is beaming where she hovers above you. “This is great,” she says, and then kisses you upside-down.

**0519—**

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Dude, tell your girlfriend to stop with that ‘babe’ crap.

I thought that was a one-time thing.

**0519—**

“I don’t even know why we like him,” Ann says, nose scrunched up, as she watches Ryuji pick his nose with way too much concentration as he sings along to some Featherman spinoff’s theme in the living room. The door to her room is left barely ajar, so it’s not overly likely Ryuji will listen in on your conversation.

“Can’t win ‘em all,” you tell her and twist the braid you’ve been working on around her head in a crown-like fashion. “You’ve had good taste once, don’t expect to strike true every time.” Her hair looks horrendous, you realise, and don’t even bother pinning it in place.

Ann laughs. “Oh, you’re good taste?” There’s a teasing edge to her voice, but you’re too busy plucking her braid apart to really humour her, so you just hum. “Well, you’re not wrong, I guess.”

Her sweetly bashful tone shouldn’t be as gratifying as it is, you think. You hide how flustered you are with a final tuck, and her hair comes free again at last, tumbling down her back in familiar and beautiful waves. “I suck at braiding, though,” you say, combing your fingers through it.

“You’re decent at least,” Ann replies and leans back to rest against your chest, implicitly asking you to stop your hairdo-adventures for the day. “Unlike your taste in men, I’d say.”

You snort, and she tilts her head to look up at you. “My taste in general is debatable,” you tease, and Ann assumes a look of mock-offense.

“Excuse you? I’m a model!”

“And a brat.”

As if to prove your point, she sticks out her tongue at you. You laugh and angle yourself awkwardly to press a kiss to her forehead. “And I love you lots, regardless,” you concede.

Ann beams.

**0519—**

“I’m telling you this with the utmost discretion.”

Futaba hums something like an affirmative and types away on her laptop. “It’s not like I have anyone I know who would really care for your dirty little secrets,” she says, her expression unchanged and concentrated.

There’s no point in beating around the bush, you suppose. You need to get this off your chest. “Yesterday, I got _so_ close to kissing Ryuji.”

The rhythmic tapping of the keys stops. “You what,” Futaba says, flatly, and looks up at you with a look that is caught somewhere between disappointment and disbelief.

“Listen, it was—it was, like, a mutual thing I think, and he was right there and so, _so_ close, Futaba, and—“ and you’re rambling, and oddly tongue-tied. You swear that you are more eloquent than this, but the blood that should be in your brain took a wrong turn last minute and is now heating up your cheeks with a vengeance. “And I didn’t, obviously, because I wouldn’t just do that, but I _wanted_ to, and... yeah, it’s bad.”

“I mean,” she says, not taking her eyes off you, but at least she starts typing again, “wanting to make out with someone who is not your girlfriend is the gateway drug to cheating. And cheating leads to you getting banned. Trust me, I’ve seen many good men go down this way.” She frowns, and her fingers still again. “But seriously, _Ryuji_? You have the hottest girlfriend on the planet, and decide to lust after _Ryuji_? Not that I don’t like him, but...”

“Okay, so—utmost discretion,” you remind her. Futaba’s brow furrows, but she nods. You sigh. “Ann likes him, too. We had a whole discussion about this.”

“You’re considering turning this into a throuple,” she gasps, a little awed. A shit-eating grin stretches across her face. “Oh my god.”

“If we can actually manage to talk about it with him,” you insist, and bury your face in your hands. It almost seems like the path of least resistance at this point—it’s far from a safe bet, but it’s a much more dignified way to get the topic off the table than to wait for the day you snap and fuck everything up.

“I say, go for it,” Futaba says and resumes typing away in earnest. “But man, Ryuji sure is lucky.” She seems unbothered by your plight beyond that, and you kind of love her for her indifference.

**0519—**

“We need a battle plan,” you tell Ann as you sit at the campus cafeteria, the noise of countless other people getting lunch almost loud enough to make you feel _not_ self-conscious about discussing this in public at all.

“Alright,” she agrees and steeples her hands neatly in front of her. “What for?”

“Ryuji.” You punctuate that by stuffing a piece of your hamburger steak into your mouth. Ann gives you a look of faint disgust but doesn’t react, otherwise. You swallow. “Not only do we have to show him that we’re available as a package deal, but we also need to do it in a way that doesn’t scare him off.”

Ann taps her chin in thought. “Actually,” she says, “is he even interested in guys?”

And, well, you can’t exactly out someone behind their back, so you just shrug. “We’ll have to see,” you tell her. It’s not as if him being interested in dating a couple is a sure thing, either. “Even if he doesn’t, I wouldn’t mind if you still got with him.”

She looks surprised for an instant before she hides it by stealing one of the fries off your plate. Then follows contemplative chewing. “Would that really be okay?” she asks.

You nod and eat a fry yourself. “If it would make you happy,” you tell her, smiling earnestly to hide less altruistic thoughts that are _decidedly_ more fuelled by a voyeuristic streak you will deny having until the day you die. “But maybe he doesn’t want either of us. Or maybe he would prefer me?”

Both are possibilities you must brace yourselves for—although Ryuji going for you alone seems like the least likely outcome. Ann scoffs, because she’s much more optimistic than you could ever hope to be. “He won’t reject us, I don’t think,” she says. Then, grinning and swiping another fry, she adds, “And if he goes for you, that’s fine, too. I’ll just always have to show you why I’m the better partner, then.”

You snort, but it’s halfway bitter. “You know a relationship like that will go south if you start competing or vying for attention.”

“I was joking,” Ann grumbles, shoving the fry in her mouth, and she pouts as she stares off somewhere into the middle distance. When she’s done with her moping, she turns back to you, resolve in her eyes and smile back in place. “So, let’s get down to that battle plan.”

**0519—**

“Almost twenty,” Ann teases, once again on the offence as she pushes herself up against Ryuji’s side. Her fingers travel up and down his forearm and you know you’d be shivering by now, reduced to putty by her feathery, seductive touches. Ryuji only looks mildly annoyed by her being up in his personal space though, and you commend him for his resolve.

That, and his _restraint_ , because your girlfriend is pretty much feeling him up with you right next to them. Not in the sense that he is about to ravish Ann though—it’s more about his restraint to not just jump to his feet and yell at either of you.

“What are you even doing?” he asks her with a snort, looking at her with a good-natured grin that makes him seem just a bit at loss. Ann’s expression must fall, and you’d assume it had been a sultry one until a second ago, because Ryuji outright laughs.

Ann leans back and retracts her arms to cross them over her chest. “Nothing.” Which fools exactly no one, but you can’t help the short laugh that escapes you when she turns to look at you and _pouts_.

“What _are_ you doing, Ann?” you ask. “And why aren’t you doing it to me?”

She actually flips you off for that one. “She wants something and thinks she’s some kind of seductress again, I think,” Ryuji stage-whispers, and you don’t dare to destroy his attempt at rationalising Ann’s behaviour away. Instead, you just laugh.

“You guys suck,” Ann says.

**0619—**

“Oh, I thought I recognised you!” someone says, and you look up to find Kaoru Iwai standing in front of you.

He looks—well, _good_. It’s not that you don’t expect him to, but rather that you don’t expect to see him at all. He’s an acquaintance, maybe, and while you empathised with his and his father’s troubles all those years ago, you aren’t sure you would have recognised him on your own. It’s not like he stands out much.

Regardless, you remove your bag from the chair next to you, silently offering him the seat, and organise your papers a bit. The library isn’t particularly full today, and you don’t mind the distraction, anyways. “You seem well,” you tell him as he sits. “How’s your dad?”

He smiles, in the stilted way acquaintances do around each other, and gives a half-shrug. “As well as he gets,” he says. Then, he feigns interest in the books surrounding your mess of papers—mildly polite, as an acquaintance does. “What are you studying, if I may ask?”

You show him one of your books’ covers. “Psychology,” you answer. “Although I’m only in my third semester, so...”

“But that’s really interesting.” He looks a little more animated now. Perhaps he’s a bit curious, even. You wonder if you should pay his father a visit sometime.

“What do you study then?” you ask in return, and so you pass half an hour with aimless small-talk that makes a tentative friend of a fleeting acquaintance.

**0619—**

The washing machine makes some concerning noises as Ryuji roughly plants himself on top of it. The heels of his knockoff Converse drum a steady, restless rhythm against the poor Laundromat.

“Man, wouldn’t it be nice to have our own washing machine someday?” he asks.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” you reply, stuffing one of Ann’s bras into the adjacent Laundromat with well-worn indifference. Ryuji scoffs and kicks out one leg to hit you in the side.

“Hey, you only get to say shit like that if you bring home money.”

You look up at him, nonplussed, with a pair of his boxers in your hand. “I’m not the one complaining,” you remind him. He exaggeratedly rolls his eyes before slouching forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“Sure,” he says, grinning because he can’t keep a straight face, and you proceed to feed your laundry into the washing machine. “Maybe if you got a job and started chippin’ in, we could actually buy one in thirty years or so.”

“Well, guess we will have to keep living together until then,” you retort, joking.

Ryuji coughs as though he’s embarrassed. “I mean, why not, right?” he laughs, somewhat dejected, and kicks the Laundromat a bit too hard.

**0619—**

“Why is it so warm so early in the year?” Ann laments, flopping down on your bed as naked as the day she was born.

“Please put something on,” you tell her, looking up from the mecha figurine you’ve been assembling on your desk in your free time. “You’re only going to run away screeching when Ryuji comes home.”

She hums. “But his shift only finishes in an hour.” She rolls onto her back, striking a sexy pose that is kind of silly, but also, _damn_. “Don’t you think we could put that time to good use?”

You swallow hard. “Weren’t you complaining about being too hot just now?” you ask meekly.

Ann grins in that private, crooked way of hers. “Well, _hot_ can be nice too,” she says, crawling towards you with all the grace of a cat, and. Well.

**0619—**

“But to think you’d betray me so,” Morgana complains, and you feel terribly awkward once more, video-calling a _cat_. “You stole Lady Ann away, just like that. Seduced her against her will and—“

“Okay, first off,” you interrupt him. He makes a noise that is close to a hiss in response. “No one here does anything against anyone’s will. Second of all, I didn’t steal her away, because she is a consenting adult who can make her own decisions.”

He mewls pathetically and licks his left front paw. “You’re horrible,” he mutters and then makes sure to go for his balls next, licking them with gusto for your viewing pleasure. You’re incredibly close to ending the call, but having to explain to your parents why your cat upset you so much you had to hang up is a conversation you don’t want to have.

“You can just say that you miss being with everyone,” you tell him and he stops his cleaning routine to look at you with his bright eyes wide and surprised. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you.”

Morgana blinks guiltily and curls in on himself. “Don’t feel bad,” he says, sighing. “Your parents are really nice to me. They feed me better than you do, in any case.”

“Do they get you extra fatty tuna?” He practically drools at the though. It’s cute, but you’re just a little bitter. “How about I get you some when I come home next time?” And that’s enough to get him _purring_.

**0619—**

“You think I should go buy some booze for my birthday?” Ryuji asks. He doesn’t sound more enthused about the idea than he is about pushing the last of his vegetables around his plate with a fork.

“Do you want to?”

He sighs. “I mean, it’s weird.” His zucchini moves from the right edge of his plate to the left again. “I really don’t want to touch the stuff, like, ever.” Which, you suppose as you nod along, makes perfect sense, considering his family background. “But at the same time, I kinda wanna do it, just because I legally _can_.”

“Don’t feel pressured into doing anything,” you say and pat the back of his hand a bit. The zucchini almost goes flying with how he twitches at the contact. “If you decide to get any, Ann and I probably can get rid of it.”

He snorts a little laugh and finally stabs some of his veggies. “Reassuring,” he says, “but also not legal.”

“You do remember that we were among the most wanted people in the country at age seventeen, yes?”

“But only you had to fake your death,” he says, cheeky, and you laugh.

**0619—**

Ryuji Sakamoto—

I’m making dinner tonight!

Ann Takamaki—

Oh God.

Me—

How come?

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Shut it @Ann

Also, a girl who goes to our gym offered me some groceries.

They’re about to expire, so.

Me—

Well, that’s nice, then.

Ann Takamaki—

Ugh!

**0719—**

Ann Takamaki—

Are we getting him a cake, or...?

Me—

How about we make something he likes at home?

Beef, maybe?

Ann Takamaki—

Ooh, sounds good!

**0719—**

Ann flushes with drink, as you (much to your delight) find out. She cheerfully attaches herself to your side and proceeds not to move from there as though she’s stuck. Still nursing your first bottle of beer, you find her terribly adorable like this.

“C’mon, quit being all sappy already,” Ryuji complains, lounging on a kitchen chair while still entirely sober.

“Who’s sappy?” Ann slurs, lifting her head to glare at him. It isn’t in any way as threatening as she seems to hope, however. “If you wanna cuddle, too, just say that you’re jealous and come over here!”

Ryuji goes terribly red in the cheeks. “Dude, you can’t just offer something like that!” he yells, then looks to you for help. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? You can’t be okay with this!”

But, absolutely unsurprisingly at this point, you are. “Do you want to?” you ask instead, setting your beer down and jostling Ann in the process, “Join us, I mean.”

It feels, you think, almost like you are asking him to join something else than this cuddle pile. It’s downright gratifiying.

Ryuji, to his credit, only goes another two shades redder at your offer. “You can’t be serious,” he says—wheezes—and pinches the bridge of his nose. Ann giggles for no reason and sloppily extends a hand towards him.

“C’mon, Ryuji, don’t be a baby about this,” she drawls. “I thought I was your type.”

You hide a laugh by pressing your face into the crown of her head at the same time Ryuji yells, “You’re drunk! You’re in a _relationship_!” When you look back up, you’re almost disappointed to realise that you missed the moment Ryuji’s flush travelled down to his collarbone.

Ann nudges you in the side and grins when you look down at her. For the first time in forever, she detaches herself from your flank. “So we are,” you say, shuffling to the side to create some space between you and Ann, “but we can fit three people just fine.”

You’re really not talking about the couch anymore.

Ryuji looks stricken, and he’s so, so flustered. He’s awfully adorable like that, and you wonder how red he can go before he explodes, but... well. You should probably stop pushing him soon, because you really don’t want to make him too uncomfortable, and forcing him into something he doesn’t want is a horrible thought.

Tomorrow, you can blame Ann’s and your actions on the alcohol and have a good laugh about this whole situation. Right now, you’re kind of still hoping for him to take the offered seat between the two of you.

And—much to your genuine amazement—he gets up slowly a few seconds later, keeping his head bowed all the while, and climbs over Ann’s legs to take the offered spot. “Happy?” he asks, wedged into the middle with his back and limbs stiff, and he only sounds 60% or so like he’s dying.

Ann slumps into him, slinging her arms around his neck and gracelessly squishing her boobs against his side. “Relax, Ryuji,” she says, nuzzling his shoulder and grinning up at him. The sight does _something_ to you.

Ryuji starts when you snake your hand around him and let it rest on his hip. “Do you mind this?” you ask, tentatively tightening your grip, and suddenly, Ryuji is back on his feet, Ann’s arms flailing all over the place as she tries to regain her balance.

“Alright, okay—timeout, guys!” he yells, then turns to face you with burning cheeks. “This is a lot to take in, and I really can’t do this tonight.”

He runs a hand over his face, expression terribly tired. “And you,” pointing at Ann, “need to sober up before you get to say _anything_.” He stands around for another five seconds or so before he turns on his heel and marches off towards your shared bedroom.

Once the door slams behind him, Ann falls over to rest her head in your lap. Her eyes are much clearer, and her grin indicates that the cat that got the canary had been a lot more coherent than she had let on. “Got ‘im,” she mouths, and you can’t decide between scolding and kissing her.

**0719—**

You wake to the sound of the front door closing and almost fall off the couch. When you look up, the blurry shape of Ryuji approaches you, awkwardly hovering by the armrest. “Sorry for waking you, man,” he says sheepishly. You reach for your glasses and slide them on, and Ryuji’s flushed half-smile comes into clearer view. He sighs and sits down next to where your feet dangle off the couch. “Listen, man, I’m... sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sleep on the couch. I just freaked out last night, y’know?”

“You had every right to,” you tell him as you roll onto your back and sit up. “We overdid it, and we shouldn’t have pushed you. Giving you space is the least I could do.”

Ryuji looks at you with a wry sort of grin and shakes his head. “What even was that all about?” he asks, punctuated with a snort. “You guys, uh... looking for a threesome?”

He asks it derisively, like that couldn’t be the answer—and, in a way, you suppose it isn’t, because it sounds like he thinks this is meant to be a one-time-affair—but your resulting silence gives him pause.

“For real?” he gasps, staring at you with wide eyes.

“No, Ryuji,” you reply, slapping his thigh lightly. You take a breath to steady yourself. “Ann and I, we... both have feelings for you.”

He looks even more shocked by that statement. “Why?” he asks, and you wonder if you broke him, because his expression is frozen and his mouth doesn’t appear to work beyond that single word, either.

“Attraction is a weird thing.”

Ryuji purses his lips and nods to himself. “You’re both two of my best friends,” he says quietly. His hands, you notice, shake when he brings them up to clasp them in his lap. “If this goes wrong and you decide that you don’t want me anymore—“

“Ryuji, neither of us would do that,” you interrupt him and tentatively place a hand on top of Ryuji’s quivering ones. “Just... what do _you_ want?”

“I want...” he begins, swallows audibly, and lets his eyes flicker down to your lips. _Interesting_. “I wanna try.”

And that’s really all you ask for.

**0719—**

Me—

I have a question for you guys, because you know a lot about this.

Haru Okumura—

Oh? Go right ahead, then! :)

Me—

What can I do when a relationship is awkward in the beginning?

Like, really, really awkward.

Makoto Niijima—

Haven’t you and Ann been together for almost a year now?

I wouldn’t call that the beginning of a relationship, per se.

Also, please stop implying we’re awkward.

Haru Okumura—

Oh, but Mako-chan! You are terribly awkward!

It’s so cute!

Me—

This isn’t about Ann, in any case.

Makoto Niijima—

Are you fucking CHEATING?

Me—

Please don’t use the fuck-word, Makoto, that’s scary.

Also, no, of course not.

Haru Okumura—

So what is this about then?

Me—

Ann and I thought it was smart to get Ryuji involved but...

It’s awkward now.

Makoto Niijima—

I have no words.

None.

Haru Okumura—

Um...

Well, if Ann and Ryuji are involved, I’m sure it will sort itself out! :)

They both just go with the flow.

Me—

You think so?

Haru Okumura—

Of course!

That being said, is this group still named “Phantom Moms” in your phone?

I did say I disliked that name! :)

Me—

Uh...

**0719—**

Ann straddles Ryuji’s lap. “Do you like me, Ryuji?” she asks blithely, hands coming up to rest at the nape of Ryuji’s neck.

“Do you think this is sexy?” he asks back, and Ann slides her hand over his shoulder to give it a shove. “Alright, jeez. I do, even though you’re like _that_.”

“You really know how to woo girls, don’t you,” Ann replies flatly. “You know how many guys would kill to have a model in their lap?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes and settles his hands on her hips. “I mean, sure. But they also haven’t known you since middle school.”

“Oh? And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asks sharply but without heat. “I thought it was all about looks? Last time I checked, you were the superficial type of guy.”

“I... guess,” he concedes, and begins to idly draw circles into Ann’s sides with his thumbs. She shivers, and you almost drop the plate you have been pretending to clean ever since Ann settled into Ryuji’s lap. “But,” Ryuji continues, and he goes red, “I just care about you, you know. Hell, you’re one of my best friends. That you’re gorgeous is just a bonus.”

Ann makes a strangled noise, and then she kisses him. Ryuji barely seems to register what’s happening before she pulls back again, grinning. “You’re sweet,” she says, cheerfully, and pecks him on the lips once more, just because she can.

**0719—**

“This is bad,” Ryuji says gravely. He gives you the most pitying look in the book as you squat before him, trying to get some oxygen back into the burning hollow in your chest where your lungs used to be.

“I don’t have time,” you pant out, “for exercise.” It also doesn’t help that it’s currently the pretty much hottest month of the year. You feel like you’re melting, stewed in your own juices. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

Ryuji scoffs and lightly kicks at your leg. “You aren’t,” he says, and instead offers you a hand to pull you up. You’re not entirely sure you won’t just keel over from standing up, but you take his hand anyways.

Sure enough, a sense of vertigo hits you, but the air streaming into your lungs actually hits differently. Better, really. It might have to do with you not being bent over. Ryuji’s hand is still around yours, and the fact that it’s maybe okay to hold onto it now makes you dizzy for another reason entirely.

But it’s also warm and clammy, and that’s pretty gross, honestly. Also, the sick feeling to your stomach has yet to subside and—

“Gross!” Ryuji shouts as you turn away from him and lose your afternoon snack and the last bit of liquid left in your body in some alleyway.

**0719—**

Chihaya flips the cards with less fanfare than she’d do for her regular customers, you notice. It might just be a front anyways. She doesn’t seem interested in reading you your fortune—which is fine, really, because your fate is probably a lot less exciting than it used to be.

Still, offhandedly she comments things like “your studies are going to be fine,” or “your friendships are all good” and so on. She seems almost disappointed by how boring and mundane you’ve become.

“Oh, what’s up with your love life?” she suddenly asks, and you sit up just a bit straighter. There’s an almost cat-like grin on her face as she looks up from her cards and meets your eye. “There’s some upheaval there.”

“I guess,” you say, but really, you suppose the cards are just an excuse to get talking, either way. Chihaya’s eyes narrow, so you give in. “I have a girlfriend, and we’ve been dating for almost a year.”

She looks down at the spread on her little camping table in puzzlement, as if things don’t add up. You suppose they don’t, if she’s speaking of upheaval. “We got together only after we’d been rooming with each other for a while. And,” and here, Chihaya perks up, “we have another roommate. Another friend from high school.”

For a psychic, she’s really easy to read, you think as you watch her fill in a few blanks here and there. She knew of the whole Phantom Thief business, and you’d spoken of your friends and acquaintances to her in vague terms for a long time. “Alright,” she says eventually, nodding for you to continue as her finger idly traces the outline of a card.

“So we both fell for him,” you say. Chihaya’s eyes widen a fraction before she lets out an undignified laugh. “We went through with it.”

“Of course you did,” she replies, bemused. She reaches back to brush her honeyed hair over her left shoulder, leaning in to turn over the final card on the right. “Let’s ensure it’s smooth sailing, shall we?”

Your wallet weeps as you slap five-thousand yen on the camping table. “Let’s,” you agree, and Chihaya grins.

**0819—**

One thing you have accepted—admitted to yourself, really—is that you are kind of nervous about kissing Ryuji. The issue lies with the fact that you aren’t at all as forward as Ann, who acts first and thinks second, and who also happens to be beautiful in every sense of the word, inside and out. Ann, who is a great kisser, endearingly dense, honest to a fault, wonderfully assertive, and so, so strong—

So, maybe you feel inadequate. It happens.

But it hasn’t stopped you, so far—you’ve worked up the courage to hold Ryuji’s hand ( _twice!_ ), and to wrap an arm around his middle without him jumping out of your hold two seconds later. Yesterday, you even fed him some of your leftovers from lunch.

You’re not one to get cold feet. But, sitting next to him right now, with some show on Netflix you’re not even pretending to be paying attention to playing, you feel like you might be. It used to be so easy, before dating came into the picture—before Ann kissed you on a snowy November night, before you made space for Ryuji on the couch barely a month ago. Last March, the three of you had sat on the floor, eating junk food straight from the package and doing each other’s nails for fun. Now, Ann kisses both you and Ryuji goodbye in the mornings.

“You’re thinking real loud, man.”

You blink out of your thoughts. Ryuji raises a short brow at you. Perhaps you _have_ been thinking loudly. “Would you laugh if I told you I was thinking about kissing you?” you ask and watch Ryuji’s face colour in record time.

He splutters, and the flush rises all the way to the tips of his ears. “Why’d I laugh!?” he asks back, incredulous, and his eyes are so, so wide. “It’s not like I haven’t... thought about it, too.”

“It’s scary, isn’t it?” you say, sidling up to Ryuji an inch at a time.

Surprisingly, he nods. “It kinda is,” he agrees. “This thing here? It’s still very, very weird. And we can’t all be Ann, who just does whatever she wants.” The fond exasperation in his tone and the fact that his sentiments on the matter are not at all unlike your own makes you smile.

“That’s just how she is,” you say, your thigh coming to touch Ryuji’s. “But maybe we should take a page out of her book, every now and then.”

When you lean in, then, Ryuji meets you halfway. His lips are too wet and slightly chapped, and the feel of them unleashes a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. Your glasses slip down your nose, and Ryuji laughs against your mouth when the frame starts poking into his cheek. “You might wanna take them off, next time,” he says, pulling back to grin at you brightly.

**0819—**

“So, hypothetically speaking,” Ann begins, “if we were to tell our friends—“

“Makoto and Haru know,” you interrupt her. She looks scandalised at your admission and you feel just a bit sheepish. “Futaba, too, maybe.”

“Oh great,” she says flatly. “So you just went ahead and told everyone, huh.”

“I didn’t mean to. I just... I was nervous and needed some opinions.”

Ann’s angrily furrowed brow smoothes over a bit. She sighs. “Alright. So what, that leaves Yusuke?”

“Would he even care?” Ryuji asks. He looks terribly tired, having to discuss this topic. “He wouldn’t, would he?”

“Probably not,” Ann agrees. “But since everyone else knows, anyways, let’s just get this over with.”

**0819—**

The apartment is, once again, hellishly hot. Your electric fans are doing their best, but they only really circulate the stale, humid air around.

Ann is out working, probably in some nice, air-conditioned studio with refreshments offered at every corner so she won’t have to be uncomfortable in the slightest. A mere mortal like yourself is damned to melt. “Ann has it so good,” you mumble, once again sprawled out on the floor, and Ryuji, two feet or so next to you, gives some vague grunt of assent.

“The gym has an AC,” he says.

“We’re not going.”

He has the gall to laugh, but it comes out dry-sounding, somehow closer to a wheeze. He should drink something, you think, and, on second thought, so should you. When you roll onto your side to look at him, he’s grinning. “You’d probably throw up again.”

You scoff. “That was one time and it was thirty degrees.” He laughs again, and you reach out a hand to swat at him. “Horrible,” you say, “you’re so horrible, Ryuji.”

Your hand drops uselessly on his chest, kind of like a dead fish, and he wordlessly takes it in one of his own, tangling his fingers with yours. “You can come with me when my shift starts later,” he offers, softer. You squeeze his hand. “Just chill while I work. Enjoying the AC and shit.”

It sounds like a good plan in theory, but there’s something terribly awkward to watching him work out while you just laze about. “Maybe,” you reply, though, and Ryuji beams.

**0819—**

Ann Takamaki—

So, which of you darlings had shopping duty this week? :)

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Uh-oh.

Me—

What do you need? I can pick something up on my way home.

I’ll only be one more hour or so.

Ann Takamaki—

Ryuji just so happened to forget a tiny, miniscule thing.

He forgot the toilet paper.

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Listen, I’m sorry, but I can’t get you any right now.

Ann Takamaki—

Oh no, that’s perfectly fine.

I’ll just keep sitting on the toilet for one more hour.

I mean, it would have been so inconvenient to carry toilet paper home.

Me—

Uh, Ryuji, I think you’re dead.

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Thanks for the heads-up, man, I couldn’t tell.

**0819—**

“Your hair looks nice,” you tell Makoto—now with a neat, short bob that curls just below her ears—as you sit beside her on a bench.

She ruffles it self-consciously, going a bit pink in the cheeks. “Thank you. Haru cut it for me.”

“Is there anything she can’t do?” you ask, and Makoto laughs and shakes her head. A beat, then. “So why couldn’t she come along for this?”

The question gives her pause. “I think... ultimately, I feel like you know how to deal with these things best,” she replies after a while. “Haru is... I love her, but...”

The new haircut hides the red tipping her ears well, you think. “It’s alright Makoto. I think I get it.”

She stands and smiles down at you. “Thanks for coming along,” she says.

“Thanks for trusting me with this,” you reply.

(Twenty minutes later, when you watch Makoto recite a whispered prayer as incense drifts into the almost-autumn sky, you can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks with her eyes misty and her short hair windswept.)

(Surely, the father she prays for thinks just the same.)

**0919—**

“Just for curiosity’s sake,” you say, “who _was_ the one guy you liked that made you realise that... y’know.”

Ryuji’s ears turn red and he suddenly seems hyper-focused on scrubbing the plate in his hands extra well. “It’s... it doesn’t matter now anyways, does it?”

You wonder if he’ll split the poor dish in half with how hard he’s pressing the sponge to it. “Can I chance a guess?” you ask, drying off a glass much more calmly.

He glares at you from the corner of his eye, still red in the face. “More like ‘can I stroke my ego a bit?’.”

That makes you laugh (and a bit flustered, but... details). “I kind of expected it, with how down with this you were, is all,” you say. Ryuji scoffs, but finally passes you the abused plate which, in his defence, is now absolutely pristine. “I’m glad that you’re with us.”

“Alright, stop with the sap,” he says before you can say anything else. He’s so, so red, and you kiss his burning cheek before you start drying off the plate.

**0919—**

Ann has an arm slung through one of yours and one of Ryuji’s each. It’s actually somewhat uncomfortable to walk like this, especially with how you’re taking up half the street, but her smile is bright, and that makes it all worth it, at the end of the day.

“We’re going on a date!” she croons, and you laugh while Ryuji pretends to be exasperated on her other side.

“We’re going to the aquarium,” he says. Ann shrugs one shoulder, off-setting your whole constellation and you stumble.

“And what about it?” she retorts. “Don’t you like sea animals?”

“I thought he liked dolphins,” you say. Ann’s head snaps in your direction before an evil grin grows on her face as she understands what you’re referring to.

“He does. We should buy him a plushie. For old time’s sake.”

Ryuji clears his throat. “Hey, Ann?” he asks serenely. She looks back at him. “Screw you.”

**0919—**

Ann Takamaki—

I have a job offer in the US!!!!!

Me—

Congrats!

When?

Ann Takamaki—

Early October, I think?

What’s really cool is that it’s for an international magazine!

Not a big one, but still.

It’s sweet!

Me—

I’m proud of you.

I told you you’d make it big.

Ann Takamaki—

But it’s something different to see it actually happen.

Still.

I love you.

Me—

I love you, too.

**0919—**

Over the last few months, Ann has made a habit of using Ryuji as a pillow. Not only parts, like his thighs or his chest, but rather, the whole length of him. You kind of admire the strength it probably requires to nonchalantly support her weight for hours on end.

Ryuji is tracing patterns into the small of Ann’s back with his thumb as they’re watching something on TV, sprawled across the couch. Their legs are intertwined messily, and you still, after all this time, adore how casually comfortable they are with each other—doubly so now that all possible stops have been removed.

But as much as you enjoy looking at the two people you love most in the world, the takeout you bought on your way back from uni is going cold in its bag. So you rustle it dramatically and wait for at least one of them to look up. Which doesn’t happen.

“Guys,” you finally say, and only then do you realise that Ann is fast asleep on top of Ryuji. You sigh and decide to just flop down on the floor next to them. “Hi,” you greet Ryuji when he looks at you.

He looks a bit miserable. “Hey, man,” he says. “Ann fell asleep, like, an hour ago, and I’m dying.”

“Why didn’t you wake her?”

He glances down at where she’s drooling into his shirt, mouth slack and features relaxed. “Could you manage to?” Ryuji asks back, and you suppose that’s fair. Ann is not a graceful sleeper by any means, but there’s a peacefulness to her that feels wrong to interrupt.

“I brought food,” you say. “That’s a good thing to wake up for, right?”

You don’t wait for him to reply before you gently shake Ann awake. Her eyes flutter open, smudged mascara surrounding them, before they settle on you. “Oh, hey,” she says.

“You’re flattening Ryuji,” you tell her, pushing her bangs back with a gentle touch that she leans into, and again show off your bag. “Also, I bought some takeout.”

**0919—**

Yusuke plucks the strings of a well-loved guitar that he’d bought second-hand a while ago with an expression of utmost concentration. His long fingers press down between the frets somewhat hesitantly, but he does his best to show off the fruits of his labour.

The strangest thing about this, you suppose, is that, out of all the instruments he could have chosen, he went for a _guitar_. Your first associations would have been traditional things, like a shamisen, maybe, or a Japanese flute. Instead, he’s plucking his way through a Beatles song, because there’s a million tutorials online for those, apparently.

“It’s not perfect,” Ann says after he’s done, and he looks surprised for a second, “but I think it’s pretty good for a beginner. Maybe. I don’t know much about music.”

He frowns down at the guitar and purses his lips. “Perhaps I should invest in actual classes...” he mumbles, and the instrument looks slightly off in his pale, spindly hands as he places it down in its case.

“Are you enjoying yourself, at least?” Ryuji asks. “I mean, that’s the whole point, right?”

Yusuke smiles. “It’s not my preferred means of expression.” He considers the guitar by his feet for a second. “I must admit that I am not good at it, either. But,” and here, he flushes a bit with what you suppose is excitement, “it is quite fun.”

“Did it help you with your art, though?” you ask. “Or is quitting still on the table?”

He shakes his head. “It helped me gain a new perspective,” he says. “Perhaps I had simply stagnated in my personal growth so much that I couldn’t express myself anymore.”

The picture he gifted you a while ago hangs opposite him, fixed to your living room wall with all its oranges and yellows and shades of warmth. You smile. “Keep going, then,” you say, and he meets your eye with a smile of his own.

**1019—**

The first time you wake up to two naked bodies pressed against yours, you feel disoriented.

You are used to a very bossy cat sleeping all over you, and you’ve shared a bed with both Ann and Ryuji before, but the feeling of a bare, toned chest against your right side to balance out the soft thighs curled around your left leg is a bit of a shock to your barely-awake system.

You must jerk a bit, for Ann raises her head, blearily looks at you and settles right back against you. “Go back to sleep,” she mumbles, throwing an arm over your middle, and resumes her light snoring.

The early light filtering through the blinds is still dull. You close your eyes again and count to thirty-three until you fall asleep again.

**1019—**

“Farewell, my love,” you tell Ann with more pathos than necessary before she boards her plane. You also move to kiss her hand, but she shoves your head away with a laugh.

“You’re so stupid,” she says, smiling brightly, before she pulls you into a hug. You hug her back, burying your nose in her hair and inhaling the smell of her shampoo one last time before it gets replaced by American product samples. “Behave while I’m not around.”

“Same goes to you,” you reply and pull back. “I love you,” you say quietly, and Ann smiles at you with teary eyes.

“I love you, too.”

She then moves on to perform her customary goodbye-ordeal with Ryuji, which ends with her whispering something into his ear that leaves him flustered and stammering before she departs for boarding with a final wave.

“What did she tell you?” you ask Ryuji as you come to collect him. He buries his face in his hands and only shakes his head.

“She said that she loved me,” he eventually says when he deems his face cold enough to remove his hands from it. He’s still a bit red, but it’s barely noticeable.

You place a hand on his shoulder and give him a sympathetic smile. “That’s how our Ann is.” He nods slowly, apparently calming down for real now. “Did you say it back?”

And he’s back to flushing. “I... didn’t,” he admits. “It’s not even that I don’t or anything, I was just too...”

“Shocked?” you supply, and he nods. You almost want to laugh. “That’s adorable.”

He protests your choice of words, but you think that, judging by the still overly red colour of his face, he doesn’t actually mind all that much.

**1019—**

“So,” Ann says, her webcam’s microphone crackling, “this hotel blows.” In the background, another girl shuffles about in her underwear, talking to herself in what you presume to be Spanish.

“How many people are you sharing a room with?” Ann groans in reply, so probably not only the one currently in the background.

“We’re four in here.” There’s suffering in her eyes as she says it, and she looks like she’s barely slept. Another girl pokes her head into view, but with the clear intention of seeing who her temporary roommate is talking to.

“Who’s that? Your boyfriend?” she asks in English, and Ann switches languages seamlessly to reply, “Yeah, he is.” The girl squints at the screen a little, then smiles. “He’s cute,” she says, and you reply with, “thanks,” at the same time Ann tells her not to compliment you. Apparently, everyone thinks you have an inflated ego.

“Anyways,” Ann says, back to Japanese, “California is terribly hot, and we’re too many people in one room. We don’t even have AC.” And, _oh_ , you think, _that’s kind of brutal_.

“Are you still holding up okay?”

She smiles and it’s still tired, but lovely all the same. “It’s exciting.” She proceeds to give you a quick rundown of her schedule that day that leaves your mind reeling with too much information all at once, but you still nod along. “I miss you,” she finishes with, and her expression turns sad around the edges. Just a bit, though.

“I miss you, too. Ryuji does, as well, I’m sure,” you say. “He always misses you.”

“I _love_ him,” Ann says.

You smile. “I _know_.”

“And I love you, too.”

“I know.”

**1019—**

The downpour that came out of nowhere sees you and Ryuji trapped at the diner you used to frequent back in high school. “You think they still have the same steak as back then?” he asks, oddly excited. You shrug, and he makes a grab for the menu. “Oh, I hope they do. I can’t remember if it was good, but it’s nostalgic, man!”

“Isn’t it called that, even?” You can’t help but smile (like a sap, probably) at the top of Ryuji’s head as he looks for the steak. “Nostalgic, I mean.”

“Maybe,” he says, and lights up when he finds it. “And it’s still cheap as ever!”

You reach your hand under the table, bumping your fingers against Ryuji’s knee. Without looking up, he reaches down as well and gives your fingers a gentle squeeze, smiling softly.

Reality is sad in the way that you can only ever hold Ann’s hand above the table, while you may touch Ryuji only with fleeting, stolen intimacies. You’re glad for all that you _do_ have, however, so you take your hand back and rest your chin on your palm. The rain pelts onto the roof above you, and the diner smells like coffee, and you stare at Ryuji, and you love him.

It’s all pretty easy, at the end of the day.

“Do you know what you’ll get?” Ryuji asks, already handing you the menu, and you shrug.

“The steak sounds like a good choice,” you say.

**1019—**

“Hey, dude, can I...” Ryuji says, gesturing towards the edge of your bed. You look up at him from where you recline against a mountain of pillows, and nod. “Thanks.”

He sits down and rests his elbows on his thighs. You stare at his back but don’t say a word, thumbing at the corner of the textbook you’ve been reading. The fact that he doesn’t want to face you makes it pretty clear that he is about to say something that is difficult for him.

A minute or so passes in silence until Ryuji clears his throat. “So, uh... I’ve been thinking,” he begins, and a sudden sense of dread overcomes you. If he’s about to declare he can’t do this anymore, that he wants out and will have all his stuff out by Monday, you don’t know how you’d react. And you’re not eager to find out. “It’s nothing bad,” he interrupts your thoughts as if he’s read them.

“Alright,” you say. “What did you think about then?”

He shifts on the mattress. You wobble along a bit. “I thought I owed you something,” he says. You wonder if he’s going to drop the L-word, or if this is something else entirely. “You’re always walking on eggshells for me when it comes up, and I thought... that I was being unfair to you, man. Just because I’m scared shitless of saying things, y’know, and—“

You smile and reach out to him, resting your palm against the small of his back. “Deep breaths, Ryuji. Take your time.”

He actually listens to you and inhales ridiculously deep. The volume of his lungs is honestly impressive. “Okay,” he says, then nods. “I’ve thought about this, and I mean... it’s not some crush anymore, and we’re together properly, so... I _do_ think I’m bi.”

“Empirical evidence would suggest something of the nature,” you tease, and maybe that’s an insensitive thing to say, but you can’t stop yourself. Ryuji only snorts, however, so you pat his back. “I’m glad you told me, though. Honestly. Labels are tough.”

“Aren’t they?” he asks and flops backwards so his head comes to rest on your stomach. Your hand is wedged somewhere below him, vaguely painful, but Ryuji’s smiling at you, and you kind of don’t care that much.

You run your still mobile hand through his hair. “You know, back in school, I thought Ann was gay,” you tell him. He snorts. “No, really! She was _so_ smitten with Suzui.”

“Okay, fair,” he agrees. “Maybe also Makoto? Or did I imagine that?”

“Oh, _definitely_ Makoto.” You pause for a second. “It was only when we got together that I stopped thinking it, honestly.”

Ryuji laughs. “And now look where we are.”

And you _do_ look. You look at Ryuji staring up at you fondly, and at your hand in his hair, and at the vague semblance on freckles on his nose, and at every bit of Ann’s existence sprinkled around your room that makes it feel like she’s still here, even when she’s an ocean away.

“I am looking,” you say, and you keep and keep on looking, still.

**1019—**

Ann’s private Instagram explodes with images overnight. Apparently, the three other girls she’d been forced into a room with became quick friends with her, and while they didn’t go out together, about twenty photos of them goofing around in their hotel room make it online.

“Your life isn’t real,” is Ryuji’s greeting when you call her. She frowns in confusion, and he raises his phone in front of the webcam to show her what can only be her Instagram page. “Four models fooling around is a _dream_ , Ann. And not the dry kind.”

“Oh, woe is Ryuji,” she deadpans. She shifts around audibly, something pops, and then she groans. “That was my hip, I think.”

Well, not all that glitters is gold, you suppose. “Ignore him, he’s just jealous that you’re having fun without him,” you say as you shuffle into frame, pushing Ryuji just a bit aside. “For the record, I’m happy that you’re making friends.”

“Yeah, that’s great and all, but I think I’m falling apart,” Ann replies, and suddenly, all you really see on screen is her knee. She’s moving it about a bit, from side to side, and you and Ryuji look at each other as if asking what the hell is going on. “Ugh, didn’t you hear my hip pop? I think the heels from yesterday did a number on me.”

It’s bad, of course—your girlfriend is in pain and all. But it’s not like you can help her. If anything, this is somehow really funny and—

“Stop laughing, I’m dying!” Ann screeches, and she’s shushed from somewhere on her side of the call, and then Ryuji is laughing, too, and eventually, after she is done complaining, Ann joins you.

**1019—**

The nights are already getting horribly cold, but the crispness of the air is kind of refreshing. The little cinema in Yongen is closed today, and Futaba bravely pretends not to be too disappointed. “I really wanted to see that movie,” she says, picking at a loose thread in her glove.

“I mean,” you say, halfway into a shrug, “you could pirate it.”

She gapes at you. It’s exaggerated, and she’s grinning. “What, you think I’d do that? And you’re actually _encouraging_ me to? Oh, I’m telling _dad_.”

It’s still kind of strange to hear Futaba refer to Sojiro as her dad, honestly. You’re glad she does, and it’s really cute, but at the same time, you wonder if she isn’t doing it just to fuck with you, right now. “Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll lecture you on Online Dos and Don’ts.”

“What if I downloaded a virus?” she asks. You herd her into the 777 across the street with a hand on her back, then straight into the snack aisle.

“I’m sure you could write another one to kill it with a vengeance.” The microwavable popcorn they have is oddly expensive. Maybe other snacks will do. “Isn’t that what you do when you’re done torrenting p—“

“ _Nooo_ ,” Futaba interrupts you before you can finish the word and plucks a bag of whatever-crackers from the shelf. Ah. Tapioca. “But since we’re getting snacks for what I guess is gonna be movie night, we gotta commit to it now, huh?” She grabs a pack of Jagariko. “Farewell, my sweet innocence.”

You cough to hide your laugh. Futaba grins and you slip past her to get to the drinks. “What do you want?” you ask, and she hums in thought.

“World domination and the top spot in every ranking ever.” When you give her a flat stare over your shoulder, she blows you a raspberry. “Cherry coke is fine if they don’t have the others.”

**1019—**

Ann’s return is a very normal affair, this time around.

Is what you think, until Ryuji decides to greet her by yelling “Ann! I love you!” the second she comes into view. Several other people freeze and look at him, red faced and panting, and Ann, lacking in sense as she is, decides to shove past others in a mad dash to pounce on Ryuji.

“He’s been keeping that in since you left,” you say, standing next to them as they hug it out like they hadn’t seen each other in years. A few people passing you by look at the two of them as if they’re considering clapping for the grand romantic gesture they’ve just witnessed.

_‘No,’_ you want to tell them, _‘they’re always like this. Don’t encourage them.’_

Ann eventually extracts herself from Ryuji, grinning brightly at you. Her hair is a mess and what little makeup she put on is smudged. Somehow, though, she reaches yet another height when it comes to her radiance. “Hey there!” she says, and because everyone here is a stranger, and you’re kind of _like this_ too, you swoop in and kiss her square on the mouth. She freezes up in surprise before she laughs against your mouth and kisses you back, and you think, _ah, she is home_.

**1119—**

Makoto scores another strike, and the lead is stolen away from you once again. Everyone else trails forever behind, but Officer Niijima proves to be a worth challenger. Not that you’d expect anything less from her.

“Why’d you want to go bowling for your birthday again?” Ryuji asks Ann, and she shrugs.

“It seemed like a fun idea.”

Haru gets up to hopefully _not_ get a dent into the lane this time. “I think it’s fun!” she says brightly, picking up the sparkly purple ball she’d been using all afternoon. Watching her with heavy objects in her hands always scares you a bit, but you pretend it doesn’t and throw her a thumbs-up instead.

“Go, Haru!” Futaba cheers, and Haru takes a run-up with a concentrated smirk. Makoto looks on nervously, and then the ball actually rolls down the lane.

She ends up hitting three pins, but seems satisfied enough with it. “Do you think I might manage a spare, even?” she asks, starry-eyed and excited, and no one has the heart to tell her that her track-record would suggest that _no_. And, well. She doesn’t. Not that she seems particularly disappointed by it.

Yusuke goes next, assessing the ball with a frown. His score is just above Futaba’s, and only because she keeps overstepping. “Like a discobolus,” you think you hear him mutter, but choose to ignore it in favour of leaning into Ann’s side.

“So, you come here often?” you ask her, and both her and Ryuji, at her other side, snort almost simultaneously.

Ann theatrically looks at you from below her lashes, going for a coy act. “If I did, I’m sure I would have noticed a pair of handsome strangers before,” she says, the way she pouts out her lips as silly as it is enticing. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, and _that_ is just too much.

You laugh, and Ann sniggers, too, letting her hair go. Ryuji clears his throat and throws an arm around Ann’s shoulders. “But, like... you free after this?” he asks, going for a tone that decidedly doesn’t fit him with a barely restrained grin.

Ann takes a moment to gather herself before turning to him with a serious expression. “I think something could be arranged. Though I’m not supposed to go home with strangers.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll feel right at home at my place,” Ryuji replies, and you end up giggling to yourselves until Makoto stands in front of you with a frown, a bowling ball, and a challenge in her eyes.

**1119—**

“A _Playstation_ , dude,” Ryuji enunciates with a care that makes him sound like it’s the nicest word in existence. You raise a brow at him and adjust your grip on your baseball bat. Ryuji’s fingers are curled into the wire mesh separating the two of you.

“I need a homerun for that,” you say, wearily eyeing the bull’s eye mounted to the top of the batting cage. You doubt you can do it, if you’re being honest, but Ryuji’s faith (and rampant desire for a Playstation) makes you want to try, at least. “I won’t promise you I’ll make it, because I’m pretty rusty. It’s been a while.”

“Just do your best!” he replies, and you get in position. Staring down the barrel of the ball machine, a sense of nostalgia overcomes you, and suddenly, you’re batting baseballs on muscle memory alone. Ryuji cheers you on, but it doesn’t really register.

What _does_ register is the bell that goes off as your ball hits the target dead-centre. “Homerun!” Ryuji shouts. You’re panting as he enters the batting cage proper and pulls you into an excited hug. “You did it after all!” he says, and because no one is around, he smacks a very wet kiss against your cheek for good measure. “Knew you could do it, honestly.”

You scrunch up your nose and push him off. “Gross, Ryuji,” you say and wipe your face with your free hand. He only laughs sheepishly before turning away, meandering off into the general direction of the reception desk.

“But,” he says as you catch up to him and he loops an arm around your neck, “I just really... I love you, man.”

You stop dead in your tracks, and Ryuji almost strangles you before he catches on and lets you go. “Are you just saying this because I won you a Playstation?” you ask, only halfway joking, and Ryuji snorts. He’s terribly red in the face, and you want to kiss him silly right where he stands.

“Nah, I do, is all,” he says, scuffing his heel. He reaches up and scratches his head. _Stalling_. “Truth is, I’ve been meaning to say it for a while, but I’d always chicken out last minute.”  
  


And, well, you suppose that’s fair. “I’m just surprised you beat me to it,” you tell him. “I didn’t expect you to.” Then, gently, you tug him along by the hand to resume your way to the counter to claim that Playstation. “For the record, I love you, too.”

And when Ryuji laughs, it sounds almost a little wet.

**1119—**

The pork cutlet bowl in front of you looks actually _delectable_. “We watched a ton of videos,” Ann admits, picking at her smaller serving with a guilty expression. Her metabolism is technically fast enough to work around this, but her dietary regimen always breathes down her neck these days. Something about getting older, she said.

“It looks amazing,” you say. “Kudos to the chefs.”

Ryuji rubs his nose in embarrassment. “We don’t know if it tastes good yet,” he says, and Ann frowns at him.

“You tasted it every two seconds to ‘make sure it’s good’, Ryuji,” she says, and takes the first bite. She chews thoughtfully. “Yeah, no, your taste-testing worked.”

You pick up one of the pork strips on top and shove it in your mouth. “Oh, it’s _so_ good.”

**1219—**

Your thighs hurt like hell and you can’t feel your feet anymore, but Ryuji looks awfully proud of you. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks, and you wonder if the whole ‘feeling like you’re dying’-thing really doesn’t show on your face.

“I’m already sore,” you tell him, putting your hands on his shoulders for support as you extract yourself from the treadmill. Ryuji’s hands come to steady you at your hips, and he makes no move to let you go.

“Just you wait until tomorrow,” he says, grinning, and you decide that the gym is empty enough at two in the morning for you to kiss the haughtiness off your boyfriend’s mouth real quick.

**1219—**

Another year has passed and you find yourself standing in front of the diet building once again.

“Still not dead,” you whisper to the wrought iron fence. It makes you want to cry, because the world is unfair, still, and amidst all the mundane happiness, even _you_ sometimes forget about the boy still trapped in the limbo of being legally alive.

You’re twenty now, and that’s another benchmark Goro Akechi will never reach. There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground that will turn into sludge before long. It will cease to exist before its time, and only some sad resemblance of what it used to be will be left in its place.

Your footprints remain, though, and maybe, you think, leaving an imprint in a fleeting existence before it inevitably thaws into nothingness is enough.

**1219—**

“How did your dangerous play turn out, in the end?” Hifumi asks, drinking milk tea from the bottle as you sit side by side, leafing through your book haul of the day.

You lean back against the rimy backrest. “Better than anticipated, for one.” You watch your breath turn to fog in front of you. Your lips tingle with the cold. “In the end, my willingness to take risks paid off.”

Hifumi sighs and hands you her drink. You hold onto it and watch her slip on a pair of sleek leather gloves before she takes it back. “I’m glad, then,” she says, although it sounds terse. “But won’t you tell me what it actually means?”

“I’m greedy,” you say. “But so is everyone else.”

**1219—**

The Christmas cake you buy is way too sweet and greener than you bargained for.

“We should have tried making one ourselves,” Ryuji says, barely nibbling at the cake on his fork. He looks sick, but he’s still farther in than you are. Ann, however, scarves it down as if there wasn’t a pound of sugar in every bite.

“You’re both weak,” she says blithely and takes a forkful of Ryuji’s cake.

“Our sensitive masculine palates can’t handle that much sugar,” you say. Ryuji nods before biting the bullet and shoving the cake in his mouth. He goes as green as the butter-cream and Ann pats his back.

“This is horrible,” he chokes out, tears in his eyes. “I’m gonna barf.”

“Please don’t,” you and Ann say in unison just before Ryuji takes off in a mad dash to the bathroom.

**1219—**

“Okay, but who should I kiss at _exactly_ midnight?”

“You think we could manage it three-way?”

“No, someone will end up with a broken nose.”

**0120—**

“Misfortune,” you say, “ _again_.”

Ann taps her chin in thought. “Well, maybe your only real misfortune is that you keep drawing them.” She stands close, almost as tall as you are with her geta, and keeps staring at the fortune in your hands. “You’re not particularly unlucky, I’d say.”

“No, I wouldn’t say so, either.” You look at her, then, with the volume of her hair compressed into a bun, adorned with ornaments, and her makeup making her look dollish in her yukata. “I’m not unlucky at all.”

She smiles and takes your hand. “Let’s go find Ryuji, okay?” she says and drags you through the crowd, and, silently, you offer not a prayer, but words of thanks to some unkind higher beings.

**0120—**

Sojiro wordlessly slides an envelope over the counter. His artfully disinterested expression makes it look like he’s slipping you a bribe, and you can’t help but laugh.

He gives you a borderline offended look. “And what are you laughing at?” he asks, and you only shake your head. He sighs, with that fatherly exasperation he has down so well. “I thought, since it’s the new year and all, I should give you some. You can probably use it.”

You take that as your cue to open the envelope only to find a New Year’s card with several bills inside it. “Oh,” you say. Sojiro raises a brow at you, but his mouth is tilting into that well-worn smirk of his. “Thank you.” And you bow in your seat.

**0120—**

You and Ann meet Suzui at the station, some time before the burnt hues of sunset completely fade into the streetlight-bright night of Tokyo. She’s flushed as she gets off the train, hair in slight disarray and bright pink trolley at her heels.

Ann bounds up to her through the shuffling evening crowd, entirely unperturbed as she tends to be as she bumps into office workers and tired mothers. You can’t hear her over the noise around you, but her lips still, unmistakably, form the syllables to “Shiho!” before she pulls poor, tired Suzui into an overeager hug.

Suzui only laughs, cheeks red, and hugs her back, and the two of them remain that way until the crowd around them has all but dissipated. Ann is flushed, eyes shiny, and the expression she fixes Suzui with is full of unguarded adoration and _love_.

You have half a mind to wonder if you should feel jealous. But Ann’s heart has always been so big—giving it to one person, or two, or maybe even three, when it could potentially fit the entire world in it seems wasteful, if anything. Her spirit is a free and wild thing, and the love she extends and whom she chooses to extend it _to_ is as incomprehensible to you as it is enthralling.

The now empty train pulls out of the station with a screech and an announcer prattles something about arrivals and departures in a pleasant, inoffensive monotone. Suzui says something that makes Ann look up at you, aquamarine eyes bright and lips parted. Suzui’s dark hair is threaded between her fingers, and a soft sort of heartbreak blooms on Ann’s face like a bruise.

You smile at her, and it’s sad, but oh-so fond.

**0120—**

Ryuji Sakamoto—

You guys love me, right?

Ann Takamaki—

What did you do?

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Nothing!

It’s just

Spider.

Me—

Bathroom?

Ryuji Sakamoto—

Bathroom.

Me—

I’ll be home in 8 minutes.

Ryuji Sakamoto—

<3

**0220—**

“Turn your alarm off,” Ann mumbles, her drool stuck to your chest, and you groan as you blink awake to some anime opening. “Ryuji, the alarm.”

“Five more minutes,” Ryuji mumbles without turning it off.

“You need your morning run, Sakamoto,” Ann says and you think she might try to kick him.

“Come with me,” he says in reply, still not turning the alarm off.

Ann rolls over, off of you and halfway onto Ryuji. Her bed is decidedly too small for the three of you. “Okay,” she agrees, and finally, the music stops.

Ryuji extracts himself from under her and apparently offers her a hand (not that you can see it very well) that Ann audibly low-fives as she snuggles back into bed instead. “Changed my mind,” she says, and you’re pretty sure Ryuji sticks his tongue out at her.

**0220—**

“Okay, so I’ve drafted a story,” Futaba says. You nod and watch her pull a huge binder out of the backpack she’d brought. It might be heavier than her. She opens it and flips to some unmarked page with scary accuracy. She turns the binder over and shoves it at you. “It’s still in development, but I think it might work this way.”

A lot of abbreviations and cross-references make it hard for you to follow what you are reading, but clearly, a lot of work has gone into it. As far as you can tell though, it’s all very ambitious and grand. “This is impressive, Futaba,” you say, because really, it _is_.

She preens and goes a bit red in the cheeks. “The rest of this is designs and more technical details, so it doesn’t matter all that much yet,” she begins, “but I thought I might try to... you know. Make my own game.”

Your mouth drops open. “Really?” you ask, and she nods quickly without meeting your eye. “That’s—all on your own?”

“Nah, I’ll ask around online if someone wants to collab on this when I’ve finalised some more stuff,” she says. “But... I don’t know, I always feel like all my tech know-how is going to waste these days. I just want to do something with it.”

“That’s just amazing, honestly,” you say, awed, and Futaba grins and looks through her binder again before landing on a page that apparently allows her to delve into the lore she is establishing for two hours on end.

**0220—**

“Aren’t you Ann Takamaki?” a girl with a bright pink bob and a garish fashion style asks, her phone at the ready to take a picture. Ann slips on her professional smile, lets go of Ryuji’s hand, and ruffles her thick ponytail.

“That’s me,” she says brightly.

“I’m a huge fan!” the girl gushes and bows so deeply that you wonder how she manages to remain standing. “You’re so beautiful! I admire your work!”

Ann preens under the praise, and arranges her hair a bit more flatteringly. “Thank you so much,” she replies in a tone you heard her practise in front of the bathroom mirror. “You seem like you want to take my picture.”

“Would that be okay?” the girl asks, and Ann nods. The shutter sound of the girl’s phone goes off in sixteenths, but Ann just strikes pose after pose with a pleasant smile. “Thank you!” says the girl once she’s satisfied, pocketing her phone.

“It’s no problem at all. I’m glad you enjoy my work,” Ann replies, still in her bathroom-mirror-voice.

The girl bows again. “Is that your boyfriend, by the way?” she asks, craning her neck to look over Ann’s shoulder at Ryuji. 

“Oh, uh...”

“We’re living together,” Ryuji replies in Ann’s stead, and you mentally commend him for giving such a non-answer. He smiles easily, rolling his shoulders. “We go way back, Ann and I. Don’t we?”

It’s an out, with the road paved by Ryuji’s diplomacy. He enables her to keep her policy of not publically dating anyone, but Ann’s expression only hardens. “He _is_ my boyfriend,” she says, resolutely.

“Really!” the girl exclaims at the same time Ryuji’s jaw hits the floor. You can’t blame him. Ann snatches his hand back, and stares the girl down with a look nothing short of challenging. Ryuji flounders even more.

“It’s been nice talking to you,” Ann says, professional tone at odds with her angry face, and turns to stalk off. Watching Ryuji helplessly stagger after her, you’re left with the girl.

“Sorry for that,” you apologise, giving her a quick bow. “He was trying to be mindful of Ann’s public image and must have upset her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to be rude to you.”

“It’s fine,” the girl assures you, and when you turn to her, she’s still stuck in a star-struck daze.

**0220—**

**I** : Recently, you have begun taking on more prestigious jobs. How does it feel to be getting recognition of an international level?

**A** : It’s really exciting! Last October, I went to a shooting in the US where I got to meet many other models from all over the world. The images were recently featured in a multi-national campaign and I have been requested a lot more frequently ever since. [laughs] I love working with people from foreign countries. Especially if I get to visit their country. It’s probably ever young person’s dream.

**I** : We have heard that you are quite the language-talent. How many languages do you speak?

**A** : Fluently, I speak only English and Finnish, since I spent a lot of my youth in Finland. But I know a fair bit of Swedish and Norwegian. And recently, I’ve started learning Spanish, too.

**I** : You’re quite impressive, Takamaki-san.

**A** : Thank you.

**I** : Travel-intensive as you job is, do you have someone waiting for you at home who misses you? A boyfriend, perhaps?

**A** : Oh, as if I could be satisfied with just one. [laughs]

**I** : You’re a bit of a comedian, aren’t you? Does it tie into acting? Word on the street has it that you plan on starring on TV a lot more in the future. Is that true? [...]

**0320—**

“So,” Ryuji says, “tomorrow is White Day.” You nod, not sure where he’s going with this. “What are we gonna get Ann?”

“She didn’t get either of us anything for Valentine’s Day,” you reply, highlighting a line in your textbook. “Strictly speaking, we have nothing we need to return anything for.”

Ryuji hums and leans into your side. “Okay, but don’t you _want_ to get her something?” he asks. You pause your reading and look at him. His head is on your shoulder, and he’s idly scrolling through Amazon on his phone. “We can still get something delivered by tomorrow.”

“What are you thinking?” You stare at the items he’s looking through. Which are, as far as you can tell, all stuffed animals. Well, that answers that question, then.

“Is it childish to get her a plushie?” he asks as he stops at a very, _very_ cute and fluffy bunny. “This one even looks like her a bit. Like, the ears? They look like her hair.”

You snort and bury your face in Ryuji’s hair to hide your laughter. Occasionally, you forget just _how_ sweet he is. “I think that’s perfect,” you agree, and from the corner of your eyes you watch Ryuji add it to the cart.

**0320—**

Haru smiles softly as she runs her thumbs along the sleeve of a light pink blouse. “It’s nothing certain yet,” she says. She takes the hanger with the blouse off the rack and immediately hangs it back. “But I’ve been looking into it.”

“A café,” you say, and her expression brightens just from hearing that word. She is amazing, and her humble, sweet dreams make your heart soar for her since high school. “Your self-supported business model is absolutely in line with sustainability. I bet people are going to be smitten with your idea just as much as you are.”

With the look Haru gives you, one could think you’d just told her that she’d won the lottery. (Not that she’d need that.) “You think so, too?” she asks, excited, and because her happiness is just a bit overwhelming, you redirect her attention to a mint green sweater.

**0420—**

Ann leaves for a shooting in early April, and among her light luggage is a certain stuffed bunny. “Ryuji insisted I name it B-Ann-y,” she says, clearly forcing down a laugh as she runs her thumbs through its fur lovingly.

You smile. “That’s silly,” you say, “but also cute.”

She shrugs and gently sits it on top of her folded clothing. Around her neck, as always when she flies away for a while, hangs the locket you gave her an eternity or two ago. “I think the little guy deserves a better name,” she says. “But I can’t think of one.”

**0420—**

Over the course of April, you and Ryuji learn how to make a Tarte Tatin that also looks the part.

That being said, you end up eating more apple pie in a month than a human should eat in their lifetime.

**0520—**

Okinawa is a lot warmer than the Tokyo Bay this time of the year, you think idly as you watch Ann and Ryuji point out completely ordinary things along the shoreline like a pair of overexcited children on a field-trip. The ferry makes you vaguely sick to the stomach, and the amount of tourists during Golden Week is sort of insane, but Ann is wearing her prettiest sundress and Ryuji’s skin is freckling by the minute, so, all in all, it’s not all _that_ bad.

The sea air has probably increased your hair’s volume twofold. “You’re all frizzy!” Ann coos, fluffing it up even further by running her hands through it. You huff some vague sort of protest, but her fingers against your scalp feel nice and Ryuji is laughing behind her.

“At least I’m not getting sunburnt,” you say—which is a lie, of course—but it makes Ann remove her hands from your head to check her bare shoulders in horror.

“You suck!” she screeches, a bit red in the cheeks, and a mother with a toddler throws the three of you a glare. “I can’t get sunburn. We need to take so many pictures!”

“For your Instagram?” Ryuji asks, and Ann shakes her head.

Looking to the ground, she blushes. “I wanted to get them printed,” she admits, voice low as the crowd around you gets noisier, “to hang them around the apartment. I thought it could be a nice touch to be able to look at memories whenever we want.”

And as the ferry draws into the port with a jerk and people stream around you to be the first ones to get off, Ryuji and you sandwich Ann in a hug that might just be a bit publically indecent.

**0620—**

You sort through old photos when the rainy season rolls around.

Time keeps on moving.

**someday—**

There’s something blatantly hedonistic about the way Ann reclines on the couch while you and Ryuji were banished to the floor. She looks like a renaissance painting, splayed out for the world to admire with her hair askew and clothing haphazardly hanging off of her while she’s eating Skittles from a bowl. The reality show on TV casts her in a strange light.

“Can we turn on something else?” Ryuji asks, eyeing the remote where it lies in the groove of Ann’s stomach.

She pretends to ponder the question before shaking her head. “No can do, Ryuji,” she says, tossing him a Skittle. It hits his cheek and plummets to the floor. “Ann wants to watch this, so Ann will.”

“Ann should stop speaking of herself in third person,” Ryuji grouses and sinks back against the couch. You pat his thigh in a mockery of consolation before picking up the Skittle. He gives you a weary look, and you push the candy against his lips. Begrudgingly, he sucks it into his mouth and chews it louder than necessary. Ann swats at the back of his head.

Some woman on TV is fighting back tears after finding her prospective boyfriend kissing another woman. It all seems terribly staged. Next to you, Ryuji actually scoffs at the programme.

You duck your head and rest it on his shoulder, if only to give him something else to focus on. He sighs and you smile before shifting your position to nose at his neck. “Dude, that tickles,” he hisses, and you laugh into his skin before kissing up a trail all the way up to his ear. Ryuji is the type who flushes easily, and you can feel his skin heating up under your lips. It’s awfully cute.

When you suck his earlobe into his mouth, you feel him shudder bodily, but the gasp you hear is decidedly _not_ his.

Ann stares down at you, now propped up on her hands, with her eyes wide and hungry. You wink at her and release Ryuji’s earlobe to press a kiss to his cheekbone. “I don’t think Ann is watching her show anymore,” you murmur into his skin. Again, he shudders.

**someday—**

Futaba starts a kickstarter for her game. People flock to it like moths drawn to a flame, and she looks so, _so_ happy whenever she gets to update you on her progress.

**someday—**

You repaint your kitchen wall after an accident with tomato sauce, and it takes you an entire weekend to do it. Ryuji lifts the cupboard off the screw anchors in the wall as if it’s nothing as you and Ann sit by and stare at his arms working through the motions in awe.

“That’s kinda hot, Ryuji,” Ann says as if she didn’t look unfairly good in a pair of overalls herself.

Ryuji wipes a hand across his forehead like he’s posing for an adult magazine. “What is?” he asks, raising a brow.

You shake your head and remove the lid from your paint bucket. You stir it with a stick that came from god knows where and watch the white mass slosh about. “Do we have to mix it with anything?” Ann asks. “Water? Or wait, paint thinner? Is that what it’s for?”

“Why did we decide to paint it white, anyways?” Ryuji asks.

You shrug one shoulder and stir it some more. “Our lease says we can’t paint walls however we want,” you reply and pluck the stick out, spilling some paint across the old newspapers you had—thoughtfully—spread out on the floor. “I think we can just use it like this.”

Ann sceptically eyes the bucket for a minute, hands on her hips, before she sighs and grabs a brush. “Alright, then,” she says, “let’s get this over and done with.”

Dramatically, she slaps a fat glob of paint onto a tomato stain. “I think it doesn’t work that way,” Ryuji stage-whispers to you, and Ann huffs before spreading the paint with severe prejudice. “I don’t think you can paint _through_ the wall, Ann.”

“We should do it from the top down, probably,” you suggest, picking up a rolling brush.

**someday—**

Makoto stands next to her sister in the photograph she sends you. They stand with their arms linked proudly, their smiles surprisingly similar when placed next to each other.

Sae looks tired but happy, her hair in a neat plait over her shoulder.

_Sis came to congratulate me on my engagement!!!_ , is Makoto’s comment below the picture, and it makes you smile.

**someday—**

_The opening of an exhibit at the Tokyo University of the Arts saw model Ann Takamaki as the date of disgraced artist Ichiryusai Madarame’s once-pupil, Yusuke Kitagawa. With their arms linked intimately throughout the night, one wonders whether sparks might have flown between the beautiful model and—_

“I’m trying to imagine what Yusuke would be like in a relationship,” you interrupt Ann reading the article on her phone. Her expression relaxes for the first time in five minutes and she leans back into the couch pillows. “I mean, would he even want that?”

Ryuji makes some sort of noise from where his head is resting in Ann’s lap. “Dude, Yusuke doesn’t look at the world like a normal person,” he says. “He probably doesn’t _have_ a relationship brain.”

Ann looks down at him, considering. “I mean, he did have that obsession with me,” she says. Pauses. Shakes her head. “That wasn’t about actual attraction, though.”

“And lasted a grand total of a month or so,” you add. “Or, well. He isn’t really over it to this day.”

Ryuji reaches up to awkwardly pat Ann’s cheek. “He loves you in his own, special way.”

“Either way,” she says and swats Ryuji’s hand away, “everyone will think that I’m dating Yusuke now, just because I agreed to come with him.” As if to prove a point, she holds her phone out towards you so you can look at a photograph of her and Yusuke posing, Ann’s arm slung through his.

“It’s really tame,” you say.

“Exactly!” she says. “It’s the type of pose you do with a good friend! Well, at least if you’re the designated arm-candy, but that’s details.”

“ _Arm-candy_ ,” Ryuji snorts. Ann gives him an unimpressed stare. He blows her a kiss. “You’re too stressed about this. They’ll have something else to gossip about by tomorrow.”

Ann huffs, but seems to agree. “Shouldn’t you guys be jealous, though?” she asks, smiling listlessly.

“It’s _Yusuke_ ,” Ryuji says.

You nod. “It’s Yusuke.”

**someday—**

Goro Akechi is still not dead.

**someday—**

Ryuji’s pizza looks much better than your own, and you wish you had chosen something else. Ann seems to share the sentiment, for she miserably picks at her salad.

“Say, Ryuji?”

He makes some vaguely affirmative noise as he tries to bite off a piece of his pizza without getting cheese all over himself. He’s not exactly succeeding.

“You’re a good boyfriend, aren’t you?” you go on. His eyes narrow suspiciously. “The best a guy could ask for, really.” You hear Ann snort, but refuse to break eye-contact with Ryuji. “Would you mind trading a piece of your pizza for one of mine?”

“Oh,” he says, and tugs at a piece until the strings of cheese snap. He hands it over to you. “Sure.”

You, in turn, give him a piece of your pizza. Ann eyes the exchange with a weary frown. “Let me have a taste, maybe?” she asks sweetly after you’ve taken your first bite, and oh, you’re not surrendering your hard-earned Better Pizza.

“I’m sure Ryuji will trade you a piece, too,” you say as if she wasn’t looking at _you_ while asking to try it. She frowns at her salad—a poor bargaining chip, really—and maybe remembers her diet as well, before she sighs in defeat.

It takes a total of two seconds before you give in, placing Ryuji’s pizza piece on top of her salad. Only the tip is bitten off. “Are you sure?” Ann asks, and waits for you to nod before picking it up. “Thanks so much!”

Her pleased smile is almost enough to lighten the blow of the realisation that she played you like the world’s easiest fiddle. Ryuji drops another piece of his pizza onto your plate in consolation, not even taking one of yours for it. “Don’t let her walk all over you, dude,” he says, and Ann blows him a raspberry.

**someday—**

There are calluses on Yusuke’s fingers, nowadays.

He’s started writing his own songs, and they’re not particularly good, but the lyrics he comes up with reflect his personality perfectly all the same. The smooth baritone of his voice is gentle, and carries the words with more meaning than they’d have on their own.

Ann and Ryuji both wipe their eyes as he hesitantly picks his way through his small repertoire, and, well, that honestly speaks for itself.

**someday—**

Hors d’oeuvres pile on your coffee table, haphazardly falling out of the napkins they had been wrapped in before. Some are stuck to disintegrated tissues, but they still look delectable, and you don’t think there’s any point in looking this particular gift horse in the mouth.

“They’re so good,” Ryuji moans around something cucumber, and you kind of agree. Ann looks halfway pleased, halfway disgruntled, and props one topped with a prawn into her mouth.

“That was the only good part about today’s shoot,” she says with her mouth full. “It was _so_ damn bad.”

You bite a chunk off some bacon-wrapped asparagus, actually swallowing before you speak. “Tell us about it,” you offer, and Ann groans.

“The photographer guy was a creep,” she says, an egg already halfway to her mouth. “He kept complaining about our poses and called us unprofessional, and when he went to ‘correct’ them,” she rants, adding air-quotes before biting into the hors d’oeuvre with severe prejudice, “he got _handsy_.”

“And no one went and stopped the guy?” Ryuji asks, short brows furrowing. Ann shrugs, and you watch his fist clench before he reaches for another tiny appetiser to occupy himself with. “What the hell, man...”

Had you still the option to change his cognition, you have no doubt Ryuji would suggest it. Were you still high school kids with nothing to lose, ready to overhaul the system, you would perhaps even suggest it yourself.

But you’re tired and navigating the workings of being something akin to adults now; you watch Ryuji sigh out the defeat you feel at the realisation.

Ann clears her throat and straightens in her seat, suddenly grinning. “Don’t look so grim, guys,” she says. “I ended up breaking the guy’s thumb.”

“What?” you ask at the same time Ryuji asks, “How?”

Ann smiles serenely while snapping a surimi-stick. “Well...”

**someday—**

“I honestly think we, in the modelling industry, need to stand up for feminist ideals more,” Ann says, a few days later, and proceeds to incorporate that thought into her image in the months to come.

**someday—**

Some summer comes and goes.

You still love Ann.

**someday—**

Then winter comes and goes as well.

And you still love Ryuji, too.

**someday—**

You love them, still.

**someday—**

You sometimes look at the photo-wall in your living room and wonder if you should go through the photos to sort them. Maybe even throw a few away, really.

But then, you look at Ann, sunburnt and twenty and grinning in Okinawa, or at Ryuji, proudly holding up a fish the length of his forearm by the hook. You look at Futaba with her high school diploma in one arm and your waist in the other, while both your glasses reflect the sunlight unflatteringly.

You look at Ryuji and Makoto arm-wrestling, and at Ann hanging from a set of monkey bars in your hometown. You look at Ann and Ryuji sandwiching Ryuji’s mother with a halfway decent birthday-cake in front of them, and a dolphin toy sitting on a couch, and a side-view of the swing that earned you a Playstation as a prize from the batting cages.

You look at Yusuke and Ann, arms linked, as she accompanies him to his first solo-exhibition, and Suzui laughing prettily as Ryuji pulls a face after eating _something_ in Sendai. You look at yourself with Ann’s head in your lap, both of you holding open textbooks without bothering the other. You look at the Christmas presents Haru sends you every year, and Ryuji smiling softly as he rubs a cat’s belly.

You look at you and Ann pressing a kiss to each of Ryuji’s cheeks on his twenty-second birthday, and at Ann and Ryuji hiding from a mall cop with matching grins. You look at Ryuji holding your hand, and at Ann kissing him in the rain after a fight. You look at Morgana, curled up on your bed at home, and at the three of you posing dramatically in front of your then-new washing machine.

You look at a wonky selfie, with Ryuji, Ann and you seated along the counter of the ramen store around the corner, eighteen and bright, and can still taste the broth on your tongue.

**someday—**

The streets of Tokyo are forever nostalgic in a way that makes your chest ache and your skin tingle. They feel familiar and brand new all at once, because the city doesn’t sleep, and an eternity passes quickly in an insomniac metropolis like this.

And sometimes, if you stay awake long enough, you might even discover love hidden in every nook and cranny.

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this since last summer and now that i'm done, i am legitimately shaking. i planned to make this 20~25k, now it's 32k, it's 91 pages in word, but i feel like this is okay. i wanted to get this done before the semester starts again, and here we are, fully on schedule.
> 
> i would like to thank hero for giving me encouragement to continue this when i needed it the most, and if i knew how to link things atm, i'd link him.  
> also shout-out to al who got thrown random excerpts on occasion and hasn't yet had a wasabi smoothie, thank god.


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